


Let It Be

by Persephoneshadow



Series: Let It Be Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alive Mary Winchester, Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Awesome Mary Winchester, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Corgis, DCBB, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2016, Epic, French Fries, Gen, Growing Up, Guardian Angel Castiel, Hunter Mary, Kid Dean, Kid Sam, M/M, Mary Lives, Minor Character Death, Original Character(s), Parent Mary Winchester, Profound Bond, References to Dean/Other(s), Sam Has a Dog, Slow Burn, Teen Dean, Teen Sam, Temporary Character Death, dcbb2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 03:59:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 143,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8606395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persephoneshadow/pseuds/Persephoneshadow
Summary: Dean Winchester's life changed forever the night a demon appeared in his brother's nursery and killed his father. As a hunter Mary is determined to protect her sons from the evil she has run from her whole life - the same evil that took John. But Dean also trusts his protection to the angel in a trench coat he talks to in his dreams. Through years of tribulation and uncertainty, the Winchesters (plus a corgi that might be magic and an angel that may not be real) must fight monsters, demons, and even fate itself to survive as a family.Or: The one where Mary lives, Cas is there, and nothing and everything changes.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to write this fic for over three years and I am over-joyed to finally be sharing it with the world. This is one of the longest and most personal things I've ever written and I sincerely hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed creating it.  
> There are a bunch of people I need to thank who made this possible, first and foremost being my wife. My first reader, my first fan, who listened to me brainstorm and complain and squeal for months as this was created. I love you and thank you. Huge thanks to my wonderful artist, [Cassie](http://spacecrazyartist.tumblr.com/), who went above and beyond with her wonderful art. A special hat tip as well to [SuperWiki](http://www.supernaturalwiki.com/index.php?title=Main_Page), which is used constantly to make sure ever detail of canon and Easter eggs was accurate.
> 
> This is a story about family and a mother and her children so it is dedicated to two people: My mom, who sang me the Beatles and taught me to be brave. And my daughter who gives me hope for a better world. Being your mom is the greatest thing I've ever done.
> 
> And finally, thank you for reading.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _When I find myself in times of trouble_  
>  _Mother Mary comes to me_  
>  _Speaking words of wisdom,_
> 
> _Let it be._

 

**November 2, 1983**

**Lawrence, Kansas**

 

Dean doesn't wake up because of his nightlight flickering. It's something else. There’s a noise. A whistle. Maybe it’s a train? Or Sammy screaming even though he’s supposed to be asleep? No. It’s different. It’s a ringing, shrill sound that increases even when Dean nestles further under his cowboy sheets.

The whistle gets louder. It sticks in him and shakes all the way to his teeth and Dean knows he should be scared. He knows it, but he doesn’t scream or run, even as the noise gets louder and the little figurine on his beside starts to shake and his nightlight flickers faster. He doesn’t move except to cover his ears. Maybe this is a dream and he’s going to wake up.

_Dean._

His eyes fly wide as his name cuts through the noise. It isn’t just a word, it’s a feeling; something warm and safe but urgent.

_Dean. Sam needs you._

Dean shoots straight up from the covers, panting. The noise stops immediately. He tumbles out of bed and pads down the hall. The lights are still flickering as he peeks through the nursery door. Dean opens his mouth but his brother’s name doesn’t make it out because now he is afraid. It’s just a shadow, but he knows, as sure as anything, he _knows_ whatever he’s seeing is _bad_. He runs now, quiet and as quick as his small legs will carry him, flying down to the den where his father sits bathed in blue light from the TV.

“Daddy! Daddy help!”

“Hey, kiddo, what is it?” his father asks, pulling Dean into his strong arms.

Dean tugs at him insistently. “Daddy there’s a monster in Sammy’s room! It’s gonna hurt him!” he cries. He squirms out of Daddy’s lap and tugs him towards the stairs.

“A monster?” his father asks with a smile.

“Daddy, come on! You have to stop it!” Dean begs, pulling at the soft, dark fabric of his father’s robe. Daddy scoops Dean into his arms and heads up the stairs, still smiling.

“It’s okay, kiddo, don’t worry. We’ll get it,” his father reassures him and the low rumble of his voice soothes Dean’s fear. “Why don’t you go check on Mommy and I’ll get the monster, ok?”

“Okay.” His father deposits Dean inside the doorway to his parents’ bedroom and walks towards the nursery. Sam is crying now, but Daddy will take care of him. He’s really brave. The only person who’s braver is Mommy. She’ll keep Dean safe while Daddy helps Sam. Dean scurries to the bed where his mother stirs, awoken by the cries. He throws himself into her arms as her eyes open.

“Dean, honey, what are you…”

“There’s a monster in Sammy’s room. Daddy is gonna make it go away, but I’m scared.”

“A monster?” The way Mommy’s voice gets serious makes Dean feel cold. She looks worried. And scared. More scared than she was the time Daddy took too long to come out of the water at the lake last summer.

“It was standing by his crib!” Dean explains, hugging his mother tighter.

“Dean, sweetie, I need to you stay right here,” Mommy pushes him away and cups his face in her hand. “Okay, sweetie? _Right here_.”

“Okay, Mommy.” His mother moves fast and suddenly Dean is alone. There’s a beat of silence as Dean listens for any hint of his parents, then the ringing, whistling, screaming noise is back, louder than ever. Dean slams his hands over his ears, curling into himself and shaking.

_I’m sorry, Dean._

Dean doesn’t realize the ringing has turned into a scream until he sees orange light fill the hall.

“Mommy!” Dean yells, jumping out of the bed. She’s there the moment he’s out of the door, pushing his baby brother into his arms.

“Take your brother outside as fast as you can and don’t look back!” his mother yells as flames explode from the nursery. “Now, Dean! Go!”

He runs, smoke filling his lungs as he races down the stairs. Sam is screaming in his arms and Dean can’t see his mother or father behind him. He nearly trips at the front door as another explosion shakes the house.

“John!” Mommy screams somewhere in the heat and smoke and Dean wants to scream too. Neighbors are already pouring out of their houses when Dean makes it outside. He turns back to the house to see flames filling the upstairs windows.

“Mommy! Daddy!” Dean shrieks over Sam’s cries. 

His mother bursts out of the front door, her arm over her face and races to Dean. Dean runs towards her and she grabs him by the arm, pulling him away.

“What about Daddy?!” Dean cries, tears streaming down his face. Smoke sears his lungs, even as his mother drags him back from the fire. “Mommy, he’s still in there!”

Flames explode from the windows in a burst that shakes the whole world.

“It’s too late, Dean,” his mother says, pulling him into a crushing embrace, Sam squeezed between them. She lets out a sob. “It’s too late, baby. He’s gone. Daddy’s gone.”


	2. Times of Trouble

**Wednesday, November 23, 1983**

**Lawrence, Kansas**

“Lettie Walsh called.”

Mary doesn’t move at the sound of her father’s voice. She feels like she lay down after the funeral and hasn’t moved since. Even though she knows she’s been going through the motions of living, she’s just stone, frozen in place beside John’s grave. Maybe she’s been in bed for minutes, maybe hours. She doesn’t know.

“Says she left a casserole.” She feels her father step into the room more than she hears it, the way you feel it when a cloud covers the sun.

“Mmm,” Mary responds, her attention fixed on a patch of wall. There are three small holes from where she pinned her Beatles posters to that spot a lifetime ago.

“The boys still over with Janet?”

Mary doesn’t answer. Samuel Campbell has been hunting monsters for fifty years, he knows exactly who’s in the house and where his family is even if he’s barely seen them in a decade. She won’t answer the question behind the question either, the one about when she’s gonna pick herself up and be the mother her boys need.

“Got the Impala put away in the garage, had to buy a new cover for the damn thing,” Dad goes on. “You think I should get a turkey for tomorrow?”

“Huh?” Mary turns over in bed. It makes her whole body ache.

“Turkey. I hear they’re the big new Thanksgiving trend. Should I get one?” Her father’s eyebrow is raised, maybe in hope, maybe in frustration. “I don’t know what you lot usually did, seeing as I never got invited, and I haven’t cooked one in a decade or so but –”

“Dad. John’s dead. Are you really gonna keep fighting with him about holidays?” Mary surprises herself with the anger in her voice.

“That was never a fight with John,” Dad says darkly, eyes narrowing in assessment as Mary raises herself from her childhood bed.

“Still not the time.”

“And when is that gonna be?” Her dad takes a long stride into the room, towering over where Mary still sits. Suddenly she’s twenty again, confronted by her father for dating a useless mechanic.

“Dad…”

“Listen, I hated that you cut me out of your life back then, but I let you because of what happened to your mother. I wanted you to have a new start, get a chance to be normal.” Mary rises, shaking her head and pulling John’s coat from the end of the bed. He’d left it in the Impala that night. The leather still smells like him. “And it killed me that I didn’t get to know my grandson past Christmas and birthdays, but that was the choice you made and I know we both thought it was safer that way.”

“Dad, stop it,” Mary snarls, fixing him with a tired glare. She tries to push past him but he blocks the door.

“And we were wrong.”

“I am not having this conversation,” she says, fists balling in the jacket’s sleeves.

“You’re not safe, and those boys aren’t safe, not here and not as-”

“As civilians? You think we’ll be safer hunting? Dad, they are children, I can’t…I’d never…”

“You don’t get a choice now!” The words are a slap. They were intended that way, she knows it. “You can’t run away from who you are anymore."

"That's not what this is about," Mary argues. Being a hunter wouldn't have saved John, she knows because no one ever stops being a hunter. She can't tell her father about the side jobs, about how she tried to keep the house protected because none of that matters now. "Who I am...that's what got John killed."

“Baby, that’s not what I-”

Mary looks up into her father’s desolate face. "But it was." 

“A demon took your mom from me and took John from you and-”

"I let it happen.” Mary’s voice is steady and her father is silent. "I made it happen."

There’s no contradiction to be made here. And, honestly, admitting it has a freedom to it. She’s said the words and the truth of them settles on her like dust. Her husband is dead because of a deal she made. He's gone because of her.

“I’m going to the store, then to pick up the boys,” Mary tells her father quietly. “Dean’ll throw a fit if we don’t have apple pie on turkey day.” She can feel her father watching her as she leaves, but the weight of his gaze and disappointment isn’t much of an addition compared to everything else pressing down on her. Even in the childhood home she hasn’t seen in ten years, John is there in detail.

He’s in the family room where she snuck down to talk to him on the phone late at night. He’s in the record player where they traded back and forth listening to their favorite albums ( _Revolver_ for her, _Zeppelin IV_ for him). He’s there at the back door, smiling shyly before their first date. He’s in the fabric of the seats in her station wagon, joking that she should have gone for leather. He’s in the weak rumble of the engine, telling her that this kitten is nothing compared to his lion while Dean corrects that an Impala isn’t a cat and they all laugh. He’s in the aisles of the grocery store, sneaking cheap beer into the cart, in the frozen food aisle lamenting that his mother never made another turkey after his dad took off, going on about how Thanksgiving in the marines was one of the happiest days they had, even if the meal was still half potatoes they all peeled as punishment.

He’s in his sons’ faces when Mary walks through Janet’s door.

They’re going to grow up without a father, just like John. That’s the thought that makes fresh tears prick Mary’s eyes when Dean rushes to her. He doesn’t say anything, just holds her. He hasn’t spoken since the fire. Sam babbles happily in Janet’s arms, unaware of how their whole life is upside down.

“You’re welcome at dinner tomorrow, honey,” Janet says as she hands over Sam’s diaper bag.

“Thanks, but I think we’ll stick around my dad’s place, keep it in the family.” The family that’s left remains unspoken. “Ready to go home, sweetheart?” Mary asks Dean, trying to force a smile. He gives her a confused look and Mary winces. There’s no home right now for him. She swallows and tries again. “What about the park? Get one more go on the swing in before it’s too cold?” Dean regards her before giving a slow nod. “Okay, go get your coat.”

 

It’s far too late in the fall to be in the park, really. There’s no snow, but it’s cold and only a few stubborn leaves are hanging on the trees. Mary pulls Sam closer in her arms as she watches Dean go through the motions of playing, climbing listlessly up the slide alone. There’s a frozen turkey thawing in the back of the car, probably leaving a puddle under the yams, and she can’t bring herself to care.

“Kinda late in the season for a trip to the park.”

Mary doesn’t recognize the voice and when she looks up she doesn’t recognize the woman’s face either: She black, with short hair, and eyes that sparkle with something secret.

“We’ve had a rough few weeks,” Mary explains slowly as the woman takes a seat beside her. “I wanted to let him get away a bit.”

“Him or you?”

Mary turns fully to the woman, not sure if she should be offended.

“I’m sorry, Mary, but…you can’t hide for much longer.”

“Excuse me?” Mary pulls Sam closer to her. “Who are you?”

“Missouri,” the woman tells her with a kind smile. “And no I don’t mean the state, that’s my name. And yes, I have certain gifts. No, I’m not here to hurt you or your boys.”

“And why are you here?” Mary demands, kicking herself for not even having the presence of mind to bring iron with her.

“Iron won’t work on me, I’m as human as you,” Missouri says. “And I’m here because it feels like the whole universe is looking right at you three and I wanted a peek for myself.”

“What?” There’s a pit in Mary’s stomach that just keeps getting deeper.

“Something happened to you, something that shouldn’t have happened, something-”

“Terrible,” Mary cuts her off. “I know, I was there.”

“I’m not talking about the demon.” Mary blinks, too taken aback by the causal tone to reply. "Though you need to know that wasn't your fault."

"You don't know that," Mary whispers, guilt twisting inside her so tight she can't breathe.

“Oh I do. There was something more than that demon there. Something is looking after all of you.”

Mary huffs out a brittle laugh. “I doubt that.”

“No, Mary Winchester, listen to me,” Missouri protests, her face deadly serious. “That night, someone threw a rock in a pond and I don’t know how far the ripples are gonna go, but they’ve already changed things.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Missouri stares at Mary and then glances between Dean and Sam. “Maybe I don’t either, but your daddy’s right, I’m sorry to say,” she drawls and earns a raised eyebrow. “You gotta keep these boys safe.”

“You don’t think I know that?”

“Away from here, someplace where whatever’s looking for them won’t find them,” Missouri plows on. Mary has had enough.

“Dean! We’re going!” Mary calls and Dean obeys, jumping off the swings without protest. She snatches Dean’s hand as soon as he’s close and rises to leave. “Leave my family alone, please.”

“There will be a sign, don’t worry,” Missouri smiles in the face of Mary’s suspicion. “Remember what you’ve always told them.”

Mary gives one more glare before turning away, holding her boys as tight as she can as she heads for the car. She’d take a werewolf over a psychic any day. At least monster don’t get personal.

Remember what you’ve always told them. She can guess what that means. She hasn’t said it for three weeks, but she knows what Dean and maybe even Sam expect to hear at bedtime. Ever since the fire, she doesn’t know how to say it so they’ll believe her. Just like her, they know it’s a lie.

 

**Thursday, November 24, 1983**

Thanksgiving

 

Mary doesn’t want to cry in front of her boys. She cried at the funeral, but every other time she’s felt the threat of tears, she’s pushed it down. She hasn’t broken down in sobs in front of them yet no matter how much she wanted to and she will be damned if she does it today because of something as petty as a broken furnace. The fact she has to deal with this on fucking Thanksgiving is what’s really about to push her over the edge. That little detail, on top of all the sorrow and exhaustion is almost the last straw. Almost.

“Mary…” her father’s wary voice comes from the hall where he stands holding a fussing Sam. “We can just start a fire.”

“No. No fires. We are fixing this,” Mary shoots back, glaring into the basement. She spent the whole night trying not to think about signs and the universe and ripples. If this is her sign it obviously means they’re cursed. Which isn’t impossible and might actually make her feel a bit better. An actual curse she could handle. She could hunt down whatever witch or rootman was responsible and just beat the solution out of them like she used to. Beating the problem into a bloody pulp sounds nice, really. For now she can’t shoot a furnace; but she won’t let it break her either. “We are going to find the one repairman working in Lawrence today and pay him a fortune and we are fixing this.”

“I’ll go teach Dean how to baste then.”

Mary takes a strengthening breath. She can’t just yell down the hall and order John to get down there. She has to do this. Her eyes are almost too tired and clouded with unshed tears for her to read the phonebook. She manages to dial the first number anyway.

To Mary’s surprise, it only takes four calls before a surprisingly chipper employee of Gracie’s Heating and Cooling takes pity on her and agrees to come over. The sight of a short man in coveralls on her front steps thirty minutes later is possibly the most wonderful thing she’s ever seen.

“Thank you so much for making it out here,” Mary says, again fighting back tears as she shows the repairman into the house. Sam, now back in her arms, is still squirming, trying to grab her hair. He seems to like yellow things a lot lately. “I didn’t think anyone would be open on the holiday.”

“Believe me, ma’am, if you’d been to my family dinners, you’d understand why I’m happy to be working,” the repairman replies with a grin. “And it looks like you’ve got your hands full. Hell of a bad day for a furnace to break.”

“You could say that.”

Sam twists in her arms, fearlessly interested in the new face.

“How old is the little guy?” the repairman – or Paul, if his embroidered nametag is to be believed – asks, waggling his fingers close to Sam’s face. Sam is fascinated.

“Six…almost seven months,” Mary smiles despite herself as Sam giggles when Paul pokes his nose. “Almost crawling.”

“Bet he’s gonna be a handful.”

Mary just nods, the now familiar swell of terror that comes from considering the future filling her gut.

“Well, I should probably do my job. Don’t want you to have to go ‘cold turkey’ today – Why hey to you too!” Paul has made eye contact with Dean, who is hiding in the door to the den. “You must be the man of the house. Don’t ask your mom what cold turkey means.”

“Oh, uh…he’s not really talking right now,” Mary explains and hopes there’s no more questions.

Dean stares at Paul and gets a grin in return.

“Eh, I talk enough for everyone,” Paul shrugs. “You wanna help me fix this furnace, kiddo?”

Dean glances at Mary, and she wonders if he’s remembering all the times he sat asking a hundred questions but never interfering as John tuned the Impala. It could be something good and Paul seems trustworthy. He made it past the devil’s trap under the door mat at least. She gives Dean a nod and a hesitant smile spreads over his face.

“Don’t get in the nice man’s way, okay?”

“I’ll take good care of him, ma’am,” Paul promises and heads into the basement. “Come on, kid.”

“If I didn’t know most miracles are bullshit, I’d say finding the one working repairman in Kansas on Thanksgiving was one,” her dad mutters as he exits the kitchen, wiping his hands.

“Language,” Mary grumbles, handling Sam over to his grandfather.

“He can’t even talk!”

Mary just scowls and heads back into the kitchen. It’s the warmest room in the house thanks to everything cooking. She stirs the stock simmering at the back of the stove and sighs at the pile of potatoes to be peeled. There’s always one more thing to be done, and honestly she’s glad of it. The moments when she has to stop and actually think about what happens next are the worst.

The fight yesterday was the same one she and Dad have had almost daily for weeks. It’s always the same tangle of guilt and dead ends. She has to do something. She needs to a find a way to support them. She has to keep her boys safe. They should find the thing that killed her mother and John and wipe it off the planet. The future looms in her mind like a vast, ruined landscape of ash. Nothing she thought she would have is left except her family. The only light in the dark.

It’s too much. She can barely deal with a broken furnace without wanting to cry. How is she supposed to rebuild her whole life? She never used to be this soft, she muses to herself, half angry and half pleased that maybe it means she’s grown. Then again she had someone to lean on for the last decade. She starts peeling. And reluctantly starts thinking. Really thinking. 

Her father’s dry cleaning business – she’s never really been sure if it’s a front or an actual second career – pays his bills well enough, and could keep them fed for a while. And they could set it up anywhere. The truth is that Lawrence is too full of memories and shadows. It’s beyond just the phantom of John and their life. There’s something wrong here now. The prickle she always feels stepping into a haunted place follows her everywhere in the city. They need a new start but she doesn’t know where. So she peels more potatoes and starts them boiling while her father feeds Sam and gets him down for a nap.

The sound of the furnace roaring to life an hour later is like music. Mary rushes from the kitchen just in time to catch a grinning Dean running to her arms from the basement. “Hey, honey, did you fix the furnace?”

“Kid’s a natural,” Paul smiles. “Bright future, this one. We’ve got it all ship shape. Shouldn’t give you any more trouble.”

“I don’t know how to thank you for coming out today,” Mary says. “I’m happy to pay you extra.”

“Oh I forgot my receipt book thingy, so just consider it an early Christmas gift for you and the munchkins.”

“I…that’s…” Mary is honestly getting tired of wanting to cry. At least right now it’s for a new reason.

“Just, promise me to keep on keepin’ on with your boys, okay?” Paul says, holding out his hand. “And we’ll call it good.”

“I…yes.” Mary takes the man’s hand and a small shock goes through her body. It really hasn’t been so long since she’s touched a stranger that it should feel that odd, she thinks, but everything is odd these days.

“Have a good holiday, ma’am,” Paul says, holding her hand and gaze for what may be a second too long.

“You too.” Mary watches as he exits into the November chill. The house is already warmer.

“Don’t tell me you flirted your way out of paying for furnace repair.” Her father’s voice doesn’t have the edge to match the words. “Don’t you have to wait a few months before that’s allowed?”

“You’re terrible,” Mary says, shaking her head and depositing Dean back on the floor. “Show him how to open the canned cranberries.”

“Yes, sir,” Dad mutters and ushers Dean to the kitchen.

The rest of the day is almost normal. She and John never had big Thanksgivings, mostly cause they were both terrible cooks. It was just them for six years, then when Dean came along nothing too fancy besides pies from the store and slightly over-cooked turkey. When they’re finally all around the table, Sam making art with his mashed potatoes on his high-chair tray more than eating it, the conversation between her and her father isn’t too strained. If she ignores the giant gaping hole in her life, it’s almost nice.

“I want to go to Santa Cruz.”

Mary freezes, her fork clattering on her plate as she looks across the table at Dean. He’s concentrating on spearing another bite of turkey, like nothing important just happened. She hasn’t heard her son speak in over three weeks and her heart is going to pound out of her chest.

“You…want to go see Santa Claus?” Mary asks back, her voice shaking.

“No, not Santa Claus, Santa _Cruz_ ,” Dean replies petulantly through a mouthful of turkey and canned green beans. “Paul told me about it.”

“The furnace repairman?” Mary stammers, glancing up and making eye contact with her father. He looks just as stunned.

“Yeah, there’s a beach and rides and a school and a four ticks,” Dean explains. “He said it’s warm and no one needs furnaces there.”

“A four…” Mary wracks her brain trying to translate from preschooler based on what little she knows about Santa Cruz. She’s heard about the town from some hunters, apparently there’s a pretty legitimate… “Oh a vortex! And you want to visit there?”

“No, we should move there,” Dean says matter-of-factly. “Grandpa said we don’t belong in this town any more, and I think he’s right because it makes me sad here, and Santa Cruz sounds nice. Paul says it’s a good place.”

“Well, if the repairman says so,” Dad mutters incredulously and Mary shoots him a look.

“We’ll think about it, okay,” Mary tells her son. Dean gives a satisfied nod and sets back to his food.

He talks a few more times during the meal. Asking for another slice of pie – which Mary gives without protest out of sheer amazement and guilt – and complementing the turkey. Sam goes down for bed with surprising ease that night, while Dean watches football with his grandfather. He nods along to Grandpa’s commentary on the game and asks a question or two. Mary shakes her head in disbelief as she watches from the hall, for the first time in weeks feeling something like hope.

“Come on, sweetheart, bedtime for you,” Mary orders at the end of the game.

“Ohhhhh kay,” Dean sighs, drawing out the words, and Mary’s heart leaps a bit. She can tell how tired the he is by how easy it is to wrangle him through the bedtime routine and into the cot set up in her father’s office. “I miss my room,” Dean says forlornly as he snuggles under the blankets. “It smells funny in here.”

Mary swallows, settling on the bed beside her son. “I know, sweetie, but this is just temporary. We’ll have a new house soon, I promise.”

“Can I get a new room for Christmas?” His voice is so small and sweet. Mary has missed the sound so much she almost says yes without thinking.

“That’s a bit fast…maybe your birthday instead." Dean nods, obviously thinking deeply over this possibility. “Goodnight, sweetheart,” she says as she kisses his forehead and tucks the blankets closer to him. She rises and moves to turn off the light.

“Mommy.”

Mary stops with her hand over the switch. “Yeah, honey?”

“Can you say it?” Dean’s voice trembles just a bit.

“I’m sorry, I forgot,” Mary says, pushing back a new wave of emotion. “Angels are watching over you.”

Dean smiles at Mary until she clicks off the light and retreats to the hall. She lets a few tears escape as she checks on Sam, listening for his breathing from the door to her old bedroom where his crib is set up in a corner. She doesn’t want to risk waking him but the impulse to touch her child, the idea that somehow if she keeps watching nothing else will hurt him, is too strong. She hovers by his crib and strokes his head. “The angels are watching you too, baby, and me too. We’ll protect you.”

The knowledge that she’s too late brings more tears to her eyes and the glimmer of hope she’d felt before flickers. But it doesn’t disappear.

Maybe hope isn’t the word for it. Maybe it’s more basic and less foolish than that. Maybe it’s just the knowledge that she is going to do everything in her power to protect these boys. Looking down at the child that will never know his father, she knows: she won’t fail again, not like she did with John. Whatever that thing wanted with Sam, she won’t let it happen. And she’ll follow whatever sign the damn universe gives her if that means keeping them safe.

“Do you know anything about Santa Cruz?” she asks her father as she steps into the kitchen, where he stands drying dishes.

“I know its chock-full of hippies. There’s a few good psychics plus a few more conmen playing up that mystery spot of theirs,” he answers, turning to her. “You’re not actually considering it, are you?”

“The vortex there is real, isn’t it? Maybe real enough to give us some extra protection? Keep us all off the bad guy’s radar for a while?”

“Maybe, but-”

“It’s as good a place as any,” Mary argues before Dad can stop her. “You can open up shop there, I’ll help and…it might make a good place to catch hunts.”

“Does that mean you’re back in the game?”

“It means I’m not ruling it out,” Mary mutters. “One thing at a time though, alright?”

Her father nods slowly. “Alright, California here we come.”

 

Mary almost threatens to stab their escrow agent, but they close on the blue house on Calcita drive on Dean’s fifth birthday. Dean runs through the freshly painted halls and crows at the sight of the back yard while Sam rolls across the living room.

Three days later she learns that Lettie Walsh died in a fire.


	3. Don't Make It Bad

** Thursday, November 1, 1984 **

**Santa Cruz, California**

 

“Good thing everything stayed dry for the kids last night, huh?”

Mary looks up into the expectant face of another mother heading inside from the school parking lot. “The national weather service hasn’t predicted any storms for the last two weeks, so we should be dry at least going into Election Day. Dry spells like this are common for this season, but for a while there was a big shift in low pressure just south of here,” she answers without thinking.

The other mother (Sally? Suzanne?) raises her eyebrows high behind her perfectly curled bangs. “Is meteorology a…hobby of yours?”

Mary Winchester lives a life of strange juxtapositions. Most days they don’t really get to her. When they moved into the new house, she had to think about baby-proofing and demon-proofing. She drives a station wagon with a shotgun and hex bags stowed beneath where she packs the groceries. Dean asked about ghosts before Halloween and his grandfather patiently explained to him, while Sam chewed on a board book, that ghosts were real but generally easy to deal with if you had enough salt. At night, Mary sings her children Beatles songs and whispers to them about angels, then heads to the locked office to sort through research on monsters or to look up spells for another cousin that called up for help. This is her life, and most days the contrasts don’t bother her.

Today, the fact she’s been making a study of weather reports and maps for the last three months because she’s terrified of a demon coming back for her children makes her remember what a different world she lives in compared to all the other mothers picking up their kids from kindergarten.

“I dabble,” Mary lies with a weak shrug.

“Oh.” Sandra (maybe?) gives a nervous smile and quickens her pace into the school building.

Mary shakes her head, fiddling with the silver charm bracelet on her wrist. She’d started wearing it again following word of the third death in Lawrence since they left. It doesn’t do much to soothe her today.

The classroom is a pleasant sort of chaos, most of the children running to meet parents, though a few are still in a clump listening to the teacher’s assistant read, Dean among them.

“Mrs. Winchester,” Dean’s teacher smiles. “Good to see you. It sounds like Dean had a nice first Halloween here.”

“That he did.” Dean had been very excited to share certain secrets about repelling ghosts with neighbors, who had thought the small cowboy handing out salt packets from McDonald’s was just adorable and sent him on his way. Mary had tried to explain afterwards that most people don’t need to know what other things their condiments could be used for but it hadn’t really sunk in. “I’m sure he had a lot to say about it today.”

“That boy certainly has an imagination,” Mrs. Elmore says, following Mary’s gaze to where Dean sits cross-legged on the carpet across the room.

“He’s been doing alright this week?”

“He’s been wonderful,” Mrs. Elmore looks a bit confused, which is a relief. “Is something wrong?”

“I wanted to talk to you and explain that…” Mary swallows. A year. It’s been almost a year and it still hurts to talk about it. “Tomorrow is the anniversary of Dean’s father’s…passing. I’m gonna take him out for the day, just so the family can all be together. I don’t even really think that he understands quite everything it means, but I’m worried.” Mary blurts everything out a bit too fast. Like ripping off a bandage.

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t know,” the teacher says with the kind of sympathy in her face that Mary got tired of seeing months ago. “If it makes you – I don’t know if ‘feel better’ is the right term – I think Dean is coping very well with everything. His father had quite an impact.”

Mary blinks. “He talks about his father?”

In the last year Dean has slowly started to mention his father, sharing a few memories, but usually he just listens to Mary tell stories about him and goes quiet. And he’s never once talked about that night.

“Well, not really, but let me show you,” Mrs. Elmore says with a smile. She leads Mary over to a display of pictures on the wall. “The other day we were talking about good thoughts and things that protect us and keep us safe and Dean drew this.”

Mary stares at the picture Mrs. Elmore indicates. “He says that’s his guardian angel. I’ve never seen an angel that looked like that and I just assumed it was-”

“John’s eyes were brown.”

Mrs. Elmore was right to assume though. While other children have drawn fairy godmothers with butterfly wings or angels with halos and even one with a harp, Dean has drawn something very…ordinary. It’s obviously a man, with dark hair like John’s, but it’s a mess of black squiggles, not the neat style John favored. The eyes are big and very blue and somehow even in crude child’s drawing they seem sad. “What’s he wearing?”

“I think it’s a trench coat? Again I assumed your husband-”

“No, he never…Can I take this?”

“Oh, of course.” Mrs. Elmore unpins it the drawing from the board and Mary folds it carefully and slips it into her purse. Dean chooses that moment to look up and see her. Mary reflects back his grin as he runs into her waiting arms.

“Well, thank you for understanding,” Mary tells the teacher, intentionally vague. Mrs. Elmore just nods and Mary leads Dean to the car. “How was school today, sweetie?”

“We learned about fish,” Dean tells her and begins a typical narrative that will last halfway through the short ride home.

Their house is only a few miles from “The Spot” as the locals call the Santa Cruz vortex. The two story mid-century modern is nestled on a hill with a view of junipers and pines. It’s more pleasant than anything Mary ever imagined when they made the decision to come here. The sun and the whiffs of salt air from the Pacific give a soothing illusion of safety. The people in the neighborhood are nice, though they generally keep to themselves. Mary likes it that way, not knowing enough to even match names and faces. Though George three houses down has a Mondale lawn sign that makes Mary doubt his sanity.

She pulls into the driveway next to her father’s Buick. He hates the thing and that it meant giving up a truck, but he has to be able to transport the kids. He refuses to drive the Impala that sits carefully shrouded in the garage, he also doesn’t have the balls to tell Mary to sell it. So they both park in the driveway.

“Can I come with you to pick up Sammy?” Dean asks as Mary gets him out of the car.

"Of course, sweetie."

Sam spends most days with their neighbor who works as a dime store psychic. Santa Cruz is lousy with crystal shops and ‘seers’ trading on the town’s mystical hippie reputation. As far as Mary can tell Kerry has the bare minimum of ability, which might explain why she supplements her income by offering cheap childcare for neighborhood friends. She does always have the door open before Mary knocks though and today is no different.

“Hey, hon,” Kerry drawls, the autumn breeze jostling her flowing linen shirt and long brown hair. “Sam just woke up from a nap, so good timing. You wanna carry your lil’ bro’s bag, Deanie?”

“Ugh, no one calls me Deanie,” Dean grimaces but takes the little sack of Sam’s things. Kerry shakes her head, turquoise jewelry jangling as she does. Kerry fetches Sam, who waddles straight to Dean with a look of pure joy on his face.

“Hope tomorrow isn’t too bad for you,” Kerry says as the boys giggle.

“We’ll make it,” Mary replies. “Okay, Dean, you have to hold Sammy’s hand walking home, can you do that for me? Bye, Kerry.”

Mary doesn’t realize until she’s taking off Dean’s coat at home that she never told Kerry about what tomorrow means to the family. She may have to revise her assessment of the woman’s gifts. The pile-up of strange occurrences has Mary on edge for the rest of the afternoon. She thinks she sees a few too many crows in the trees and over-salts dinner. Dad can probably tell she’s tense, but he knows better than to argue.

She waits until Sam is tucked in for the night before finding Dean playing with racecars in his bedroom. He’s making the engine noises and racing them across the floor and through the air. Dad hates the things because they hurt like a bitch to step on, but they were some of the only toys from the old house they could salvage. She should find him a small Impala, she thinks. She laughs quietly as Dean smashes two cars dramatically into one another, making noises for the imaginary explosion and ensuing chaos.

Dean looks up and grins. “Can I have my piece of Halloween candy for the night?”

“Didn’t Grandpa already give that to you?”

“…No.”

Mary raises an eyebrow. Her son’s lying voice is unmistakable.

“Yeah, he did.”

“You can have two on Saturday, okay?”

“Okay,” Dean agrees with a sigh.

Mary shakes her head at the burdens a five-year-old must endure as she sits on his bed.  “Dean, honey, your teacher showed me a picture you drew at school,” Mary begins, unfolding the paper she’s holding. Dean immediately jumps up to snuggle beside her. “Can you tell me about this?”

 

Dean smiles at the page then up at his mother. “Oh yeah. That’s my guardian angel.”

“He’s doesn’t look much like an angel,” Mary replies tenderly. “Is he supposed to be-”

“I told him that,” Dean cuts her off before she can mention John and Mary blinks. “He says he doesn’t know why he looks like this, ’cause he doesn’t have a body. He said it feels like an echo. But I like his funny coat.”

“You talk to him?” There are alarms going off in the back of Mary’s head. Maybe it’s just an imaginary friend. That’s normal, right?

“Yeah. Only when I’m asleep though.”

“Oh, you dreamed him!” Mary sighs in relief.

“If he talks to me when I’m awake it’ll hurt my ears.” Dean pouts and plays with the corner of the picture.

“He looks sort of like Daddy,” Mary says softly.

Dean looks at the drawing in consideration. “I guess so, sorta.”  

Mary swallows, wondering how many times Dean has had this dream. The detail is impressive and consistent. Enough to make her still worry a bit.

“I asked him about Daddy.”

The questions waiting in her mouth dry up immediately. Dean’s face is sad and thoughtful. “What did he say?”

“He said he didn’t know if Daddy was in heaven ’cause he’s not allowed there anymore,” Dean murmurs. “He says he’s sorry he couldn’t help him too. He was real sad when he told me, then he went away. But he came back.”

“How many times have you talked to him?” 

“A bunch. He’s lonely.” Dean heaves a breath. “Mommy…”

“Yeah, honey?”

“Tomorrow’s the day Daddy died,” Dean whispers.

Mary feels a stone weight settle inside her as she watches Dean’s solemn face. “Yeah it is.”

“Was it...” Dean’s voice is incredibly small and frightened. "Was it my fault?"

Mary pulls him into her arms instantly. “Oh, sweetheart, no,” Mary whispers, pressing a kiss to Dean’s hair as the first tears streak down his face. “No no no.”

“But I-I told him about the monster! I was scared it was gonna hurt Sammy and I made him go look,” Dean blubbers into her shoulder.

“Shhhh. It wasn’t your fault, honey, I swear,” Mary murmurs, rubbing circles on Dean’s back.

The details of that night will be seared into her memory until the day she dies, but still she tries not to think about it. It hurts too much. Hearing her own guilt in her son’s voice makes it all rush back though. She’d made the mistake of feeling safe in the life she’d built with John. She’d forgotten the demon with yellow eyes and the deal she’d made to save the man she loved.

Over ten years before they’d tracked a demon to the Walsh farm and nearly had it trapped to send it back to the pit. But it had seen something in Mary; said she had spunk then escaped. Even before everything went wrong on that hunt, she had been ready to choose John Winchester over her family's legacy. The demon zeroing in on her just sealed it. So, she’d run to him, begging that they start their life as soon as they could and he’d said yes. Then her father had found them. Except it wasn’t her father.

She remembers the almost casual way the thing had yanked John out of the car and snapped his neck, as if he wasn’t even worth using its powers on. John had looked so confused then…blank. Nothing. Everything she had ever dreamed of and wanted just gone in a second. When the demon offered the deal it was easy. In that moment she would have given her soul, but it cost less than that.

She’d chosen John Winchester. Over her family, over the happiness and safety of children she couldn’t even dream of in that moment. Knowing everything she knew, she had still chosen him. She’d thought she was saving him, saving them both. And maybe she had. But she’d broken so much too.

Mary hadn’t known then that the demon had snapped her mother’s neck when Mom tried to exorcise it back at their house. Later, she had counted herself lucky that at least her father had survived, though she wasn’t sure he felt that way. He’d had to watch his own hands take his wife’s life. Mary knows now how that night was worse than dying for him. He lost a wife and a daughter in different ways. They hadn’t talked at the funeral. She'd eloped in Reno so there was no wedding to miss. Mary and John had moved across town afterward and Mary always wondered if there was part of him that blamed John for what happened. Until she’d had a child of her own, she had worried her father blamed her.

Time dulled their wounds and for ten years she had a normal, simple life. She’d worked part-time at the same garage as John, managing the front desk and balancing the books. After Dean was born she’d stayed home, happy to just be a mother and not worry about the things out there in the night. It wasn’t easy. There were fights and tears. A few blow ups when John disappeared and she was sure he wasn’t coming back. But he always did. And ten years to the day after she made the deal to save John, she had lined their doors with salt and hidden holy water in her purse. No one paid any attention to a woman about to give birth acting paranoid. She had waited all day and…nothing had happened.

And then Sam was born and she’d spent months not sleeping, worrying about normal things again. She was exhausted on his six month birthday, but she was happy and at peace. Somewhere along the line she had forgotten to be afraid. Until the moment Dean had woken her up to tell her that there was a monster in Sam’s room.

There was a part of her that had known at that moment that everything was over. She felt it when she walked into Sam’s room – that feeling of _wrong_ that every hunter knows to recognize. There was a part of her still arguing with those instincts, still trying to hope, until she saw the blood drip onto her child’s face.

Mary squeezes Dean tighter, pushing away the memory of looking up to see her husband’s face distorted in a perfect rictus of terror, gaping at her for a terrible moment before the flames exploded.

“It wasn’t your fault, sweetie,” Mary tells her son. She wishes she could tell herself that as well.

“But…” Dean protests and Mary pulls away to look him in the face.

“No,” Mary says, resolve building inside her. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault,” she lies, “except for the thing that started that fire.”

“The monster?”

They’ve never really talked about it, Mary realizes. She knows Dean saw the thing, but after the fire there had been weeks of silence, and after that she couldn’t bear to ask him or tell him more.  It’s probably time to change that.

“Yes, the monster,” Mary says with a nod. “There _are_ monsters out there, Dean, and they do very bad things.” Dean swallows, tears glistening in his eyes. Mary steels herself. “But there are good people out there who stop the monsters.”

“Like how Grandpa knows how to stop ghosts?” Dean asks, perking up and sniffling.

“Grandpa knows how to stop the monsters too,” Mary tells Dean slowly. “So did his dad, and his Grandpa. Grandma too.” Mary takes a deep breath. “And me.”

“ _You_ fight monsters?” There’s awe in Dean’s expression, but not a hint of doubt.

“I did, a long time ago, before I met daddy. And if any monster comes for you or Sammy, I won’t let them hurt you. I promise,” Mary says, holding Dean’s shoulders tight. He nods, immediately trusting.

“Cas says the monster can’t find us now.”

Mary cocks her head. “Who?”

Dean looks back down at the picture. “Cas. My angel.”

“Oh, of course,” Mary smiles quizzically. Funny name for an angel, but then again, her son dreamed up an angel wearing a trench coat. “I’ve always told you angels were watching over you. Guess I was right,” she adds. If this dream or imaginary friend or whatever it is makes her son feel safe, she’s not poking at it.

Dean smiles tiredly and leans back against her shoulder. “Will you sing for me?” he asks through a yawn.

“Of course, honey,” Mary says, pulling Dean closer as he rests his head on her chest. “ _Hey Jude, don’t make it bad, take a sad song, and make it better_ …”

As she sings she hears a creak in the hallway and looks up to see her father watching from the door. There’s a sad smile on his face, probably the same one he sees on her when he watches her watch her family. It speaks of love, but also regret, because so many people should also be there to see.

Once Dean is asleep, she finds her dad in the office, looking at the massive map of the U.S. pinned on the wall, surrounded by all the clues they can find about the demon. There aren’t many. Seven more deaths in Lawrence after they left. And another fire in Saginaw, Michigan on a baby’s six month birthday. A distant Campbell relative had passed that one along to Samuel. It should have made Mary happy to have more information but all it did was make her realize that this thing had a plan that was so much bigger than anything she could imagine. She considered making a trip, asking the Miller family if they remember a man with yellow eyes eleven years before, but then she found out the mother had died and couldn’t bring herself to intrude on that grief. And then the Campbell that had provided the tip had died too.

“I told him,” Mary sighs, not looking away from the wall. “About hunters. Sort of.”

“I bet it didn’t come as a surprise,” Dad shrugs.

“How much have you been telling him?”

“Just the truth.”

Mary shakes her head tiredly. “I never wanted this to be part of their life.” She already knows she’ll have the same talk with Sam one day; that he too will grow up knowing nightmares are real.

“They’re Campbells, it’s in their blood. Same as you.”

“We’re not Campbells, we’re Winchesters. I thought that could mean…” Mary stops herself. She glares at the map, at the red pins stuck into Lawrence like so many small bloodstains. “I’m going to kill it.”

“Kill a demon?”

“Yes. And when it’s dead, when they’re safe, it will be over.” She knows it’s a dream, and so does her father, but he doesn’t argue. If Dean can believe in angels, she can believe in an end to all of this, goddamnit.

“We got any plans for tomorrow?” Dad asks, knowing when not to pick a fight. “I know you’re keeping Dean home, cause you’re smart and paranoid, but are we all just gonna sulk around here or do something useful?”

Mary sends him a glare but there’s no sting in it. It shouldn’t surprise her, how much her father knows her. They’re more alike than she’ll ever admit. “I’m not sure.”

“Let’s go to the beach then.”

Mary raises an eyebrow. “It’s November.”

“It’s California. Come on, don’t you want those two soaked in salt water when night falls?”

Mary chuckles, ceding the point. “Fine, we’ll go to the boardwalk too. No cotton candy though.”

“You say that now. But those boys’ll make you change your tune.”

“I was talking about you.” Mary huffs a laugh as her father pats her shoulder and leaves her alone in the office.

Tomorrow will be hard, she knows it, and staring at the wall isn’t going to make it easier. But neither will lying in bed trying to sleep and failing. She settles at the desk and thumbs through a stack of weather reports she’s already read and notated. One more look through this and the coroner’s reports won’t hurt.

That night she dreams of a man in a trench coat with sad blue eyes who says he’s sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Santa Cruz Mystery Spot](https://www.mysteryspot.com/) is a real place, as are nearly all the places referenced in the fic.


	4. Oh Blah Dee

**Monday, April 28, 1986**

**Santa Cruz, California**

 

“Ain’t you a little bit young for this kind of job?”

Dean looks up from the homework spread out on the front counter. He’d been concentrating on finishing the line of addition problems and hadn’t heard the bell on the door, but that’s probably because the machines are running right now. Dean likes the noise of Sunshine Dry Cleaner’s; the constant roar and the clean, warm smell.

“Grandpa says it builds character,” Dean says. The man raises an eyebrow. Dean doesn’t recognize him as one of the regular customers. He’s black, with sharp eyes and close cut hair. “I like your beard,” Dean tells him.

“This ain’t no beard, son, this is a soul patch,” the man replies quickly with an unfamiliar drawl to his words.

“I like your soul patch.”

“Who put you to work out here?” the man asks, holding back a chuckle.

“I’m earning money to buy my brother a birthday present,” Dean explains with a grin. “He’s gonna be three on Friday and I want to get him something special ’cause mom says he’s gonna remember this birthday. I get a dollar from Grandpa for every hour I work. He also says I get to keep the tips but the only thing people leave are pennies. Except one guy left a used toothpick.”

The man laughs. It looks like he’s surprised it happened. Dean smiles proudly. “Any chance your job duties include finding me a grown up to talk to?”

“That’s all I’m supposed to do,” Dean says and it dawns on him that he’s slacking. “Oh. Sorry.” Dean springs up and runs towards the back where the machines are whirring away. “Mom! New customer!”

His mother looks up from a rack of shirts and smiles, a lock of blonde hair falling out of her ponytail across her face. “Thank you, sweetie; good job.”

“You know, I’ve heard bells work too,” the man says as Dean leads his mom to the counter. He watches as she gives the stranger a once over, her eyes lingering on the paper bag he’s carrying.

“Bells don’t get out of school before I finish work,” Mom replies. “How can I help you?”

The man glances at Dean then slides the bag across the counter. “I was told to ask for either Samuel or Mary, and well, you don’t look like a Samuel.” Mom gives a slow nod. Lots of customers know Mom and Grandpa by name so Dean doesn’t know why Mom looks worried.  “Now that there is my favorite jacket, and I heard from a friend of a friend that you were the one who wouldn’t ask too many questions about fixing it up.” Mom opens the bag carefully and peers inside. Her eyes go wide.

“What the-”

“Now, I know most cleaners don’t blink an eye at bloodstains, but the holes from the bite…well, you know how civilians are,” the man goes on, fast and easy as before. Dean’s mother’s face is stony and that, more than anything, makes Dean curious. “A Campbell on the other hand…”

“Dean, go finish your homework in the back.”

“But I wanna see the blood!” The glare he earns from his mother makes him shrink.

“Dean. Now.”

Dean grabs his papers and sulks away through the curtain that separates the work floor from the front. He actually considers doing as he was told and finishing the worksheet, but a machine buzzes and then quiets, letting him hear what’s being said out front. It would be a waste not to listen, he figures.

“…hell are you?” his mother is asking, her voice low and dangerous. “How did you find us?”

“Name’s Rufus Turner. And I know a guy who has a friend who knows a cousin of yours.”

“Fucking Gary." Mr. Turner laughs and Dean gasps quietly at hearing his mother use such a bad word. “What did this?” Dean guesses she means the coat.

“Vetala,” Mr. Turner answers. “You ever take down a pair? More teeth than I ever want to see again. I ain’t here about them, though.”

 “I thought you were here to get a coat fixed.”

“Oh well, that too, but I got word of some campers disappearing up in the Sierra, three in the last month.”

Dean swallows. He doesn’t like sounds of that. Grandpa talks about stories like this sometimes; about people getting hurt or going missing. Mom usually tells him to call someone else about it. But there was the time that Kerry asked Mom for a favor and Mom came home with messy hair and a cut on her face. And twice Grandpa has gone on trips and come back looking tired but proud.

“The pattern fits,” Rufus is saying. “And they disappeared right by Donner.”

“So it could be a wendigo. Sounds like you’ve got it covered.”

“Now, I know I look like just another pretty face, but I ain’t no fool,” Mr. Turner says. “And I damn sure ain’t going after a wendigo alone. I value my glorious life.”

“And I value mine,” Mom replies. “And my kids’.”

“What about those people dying up there in the mountains?” Mr. Turner shoots back. There’s silence. “Or maybe you’re just afraid. From what I hear, you been out of the game for a long while. Wendigo’s gonna be a bit more of a challenge than some jazzercise class or whatever it is you ladies do nowadays.”

“I can still kick your ass.”

Dean hears a soft chuckle. “Listen, I’m heading up soon – gotta get this done before Sabbath – so, if you’re in, you can find me at the Sea Breeze motel. Ask for Lionel Richie.” There’s another moment of silence. “If I ain’t back for that coat next week…well…”

“Thank you for your business, Mr. Turner,” Mom says coldly.

“See you soon, Miss Campbell,” he says back and Dean hears the sound of footsteps.

“It’s Winchester – damn it.” The bell over the door jingles and Dean has only a second to react before he hears his mother approach where he’s eavesdropping. He spins but she’s already pulled back the curtain to catch him. “How much of that did you hear?”

“None?” Dean tries to control his face but his mother doesn’t seem to believe him. “All of it.”

Mom sighs, shaking her head. She still has the paper bag in her hand. “Go finish your homework while I deal with this and then we’ll head home.”

“Okay,” Dean agrees dully.

He trudges back to the counter and takes up his work again, but he can’t concentrate. His mind is racing, wondering what Mr. Turner was talking about and why it made Mom so mad. By the time he’s safely in the back seat of the car on the way home, he can’t contain his curiosity anymore.

“What’s a wendigo?” His mother’s hands tighten on the steering wheel but she doesn’t answer immediately. “Is it a monster? Did that guy want you to help get it?”

“Yes, it’s monster that lives in the woods,” Mom answers uneasily.

“Are you gonna go?”

“I – I don’t know, sweetie.” They make eye contact in the rearview mirror and Dean is surprised to see the worry in his mother’s face. “It’s dangerous. And Sammy’s birthday is Friday, I can’t miss that.”

“Then go fast!”

“Have you decided what you want to get him for a present? How much money have you earned?”

Dean knows this is a diversion (he heard that word in one of the black and white movies Grandpa likes) but the topic is too tempting. Maybe if Mom is already mad at him for listening when he shouldn’t have she won’t be mad about this. “I’m gonna get him a dog!” he confesses, unable to contain his excitement.

“Dean, I’ve told you both, _no dog_.”

“But Mooooooom…”

“No, Dean.”

Dean sinks further into his seat, pouting.

“What about a soccer ball?”

Dean’s frown deepens. He doesn’t say anything else about the dog, or the visit from Mr. Turner, until he has someone with more understanding to talk to.

“I asked mom about the dog again,” Dean tells Sam as he takes his hand and leads him home from Kerry’s house.

“You know she’s not gonna say yes to that,” Kerry calls out after them even though Dean thought they were out of earshot.

He scowls as Sam looks up at him sadly. “No doggie?”

“I’ll keep trying,” Dean reassures him.

“We can hide him in the couse!”

Dean laughs. He’s not sure if Sam means to say Club House or Car. If Mom or Grandpa know that the carefully shrouded Impala that takes up most of the space in the garage is Dean’s special hiding place, they don’t say anything. Dean likes to huddle in the back and play with his army men, or pretend he’s driving. There’s not a lot of light in the garage – only one dirty window in the back – and even less under the tarp that covers the car, so it’s always twilight inside the Impala. Dean likes it. The dim quiet comforts him in a different way than the noise of the dry cleaners. The smell of leather and metal and something else, something older and distant, always makes him feel safe. He’s only taken Sammy into his club house a few times – the times when Sam asked about Daddy.

“I don’t think a dog would like it in there, and he would scratch the seats,” Dean explains patiently. Sam pouts again.  “I promise I’ll get you something special, Sammy.”

“Doggie!” Sam argues as they reach the front door. Well, it’s not really an argument but it’s as good at a three year-old can do.

“Hey, short stuff,” Grandpa greets, emerging from the office with Mom behind him. She still looks grumpy. “How do you feel about shepherd’s pie for dinner?”

“With ketchup?” Dean asks, perking up.

“Of course with ketchup, can’t leave out the most important food group,” Grandpa agrees. “Come on and help me out.”

Dean is allowed to use the can opener _and_ the peeler while they make dinner. Sam makes a mess eating, as usual, and Dean is reminded three times not to talk with his mouth full. Dean forgets he has still has questions about until its bedtime.

“How far away is the monster Mr. Turner was talking about?” Dean asks Mom, resisting being tucked in.

“It’s…It’s up in the mountains, on the other side of the state.”

“That’s not too far!”

A few different expressions flit across Mom’s face, but she ends up just sighing. “I’m not worried about how far it is. I’ve got to take care of you and Sammy; Grandpa too.”

“But people are getting hurt, right?” Mom looks away from him, almost like she’s embarrassed, then nods. “What about the people _they_ need to take care of?”

He’s not sure why his mother looks so shocked when he asks that. Maybe not really shocked, just surprised and…sad?

“It’s time to go to sleep, honey. Sleep tight, okay?” she says with a kiss to his forehead. “Angels are watching over you.”

“Night, Mommy,” Dean replies as she clicks off the light. She says the same thing every night; so often that Dean barely notices. He knows it’s true of course, but tonight it reminds him that someone else can tell him about the monsters. He just hopes he can fall asleep fast tonight.

 

**Tuesday, April 29, 1986**

 

Most mornings the sound of little boys laughing in the kitchen over cheerios would make Mary happy. Today it makes her head hurt. She stares down into her coffee cup, not at all surprised to find it empty already. Time for round three.

“You sleep at all last night?” her father asks, handing her the half-drained coffee carafe.

“Maybe a few hours,” she mutters. “Got a bit fuzzy after three a.m.”

“You think any more about the offer?” Mary levels a look at her father. Just like him to call a wendigo hunt an ‘offer.’ Like it’s a business venture instead of an invitation to danger and pain. Or a temptation..

“No, I was up all night worrying about if Sam’s cake will be ready on Friday.” She pours her coffee aggressively, something she didn’t even know was possible, and stalks to the kitchen table.

“I’ve heard a few things about Turner through the grapevine,” Dad goes on. “Sounds like he knows what he’s doing.”

“Dad…”

“What’s a vetala?”

Mary and her father both turn to Dean in unison. He looks at them expectantly as he pushes a huge spoonful of cereal into his mouth and crunches away.

“Where’d you hear that word?” Dad asks, a hint of amusement in his voice that Mary wants to chide him for.

“From the man that wants Mommy to go to the mountains,” Dean explains. “Are they monsters too?”

“Yeah, nasty ones,” Dad answers casually. “Big fangs, venom, always hunt in pairs. Your grandma and I took out two in Albuquerque, back in the fifties. They were catching tourists at this –”

“Dad!” Mary snaps. Dean doesn’t look too disturbed and Sam barely seems to be registering the conversation, but still. Sure, she knew this when she was their age…but the whole point of being here was to keep them safe. Not that it had worked out that way entirely.

Dad has taken a few hunts in the last year or two. Nothing too taxing, a few salt and burns, one rogue witch in Death Valley, and a siren in Reno. Everything had come from the few Campbells that were still alive and speaking to them and Dad had never gone alone. Each time he left, usually riding shotgun in Gary’s pick-up, Mary had felt like her fear was going to swallow her whole. It’s not that she didn’t think her father could handle himself, but he was fifty-four and not entirely the hunter he used to be. Every time she mentioned that, he’d told her that she was free to go instead. And it wasn’t like she could tell him she didn’t hunt anymore. There was the agonizingly slow hunt for the demon, but Mary had taken on a few…extracurriculars too.

Exorcising the poltergeist for Kerry’s client had been the first. Mary had never told their neighbor she was a hunter, but she was apparently psychic enough to suss it out herself. After that there had been a few other small things around town that she’s kept from the boys, but what Turner wants is different.

Mary takes a steadying breath. “No monster talk at the breakfast table,” she orders, fully aware it’s a silly rule that no one is going to obey.

“Well, if Turner took out a pair of vetalas,” her father says, raising an eyebrow and ignoring Mary’s exasperated look. “Sounds like you’d be in good hands.”

“We’re not discussing this right now.”

“I talked to Cas about it. He says you should go,” Dean states through another mouthful of cereal.

“Oh well, if the kid's imaginary friend says so…”

“He’s NOT imaginary!”

“Don’t raise your voice to your grandfather, Dean,” Mary snaps and for a second the table is quiet, save for the sound of Sam crunching on apple slices. Her father has a smug look on his face.

“Cas promised to watch over you, like you always say he does for me,” Dean tells her with a grin. “ _And_ he said if people are getting hurt it’s important to help them, just like I said.”

“Well, he’s not wrong,” her father smirks and Mary wants to throw her head into her hands. She’s sure that Dean isn’t making up a story just to win an argument he barely understands. Dean doesn’t talk about his angel very much, just enough for Mary to know that her son still dreams about him, still believes. The idea that Dean wants to send her off with his own imaginary protector makes her heart swell a bit and she can feel the final bits of her resolve cracking.

“If Cas is with me, who will take care of you and Sammy?” she asks with a weak smile.

“Grandpa and Kerry and Ms. Wong!” Dean answers, obviously frustrated by his mother’s denseness because of course his teacher will also be protecting him. Mary glances at her father, whose eyebrow is raised.

“Well, then you also have to promise to be very good while I’m gone, okay?” Mary tries to keep the tremor out of her voice. Dean nods vehemently and her father gives a quiet, triumphant chuckle. She knows what he’s thinking – that she never could stay away, that she’s a sucker for helping people, that she loves a challenge. She hates that he’s right.

 

**∞**

 

Dean isn’t going to be scared getting off the bus. He wasn’t scared when Mom dropped him off at school and promised she would be home in time for the party on Friday afternoon. He wasn’t scared at all when she told him that she was trusting him to take care of Sammy while she was gone. So he’s not gonna be scared getting off the bus and walking the few blocks home.

It’s not like he’s never walked home alone before. Sure, usually Mom or Grandpa or Kerry is there at the stop, but he’s made it home and to the dry cleaners _six_ times on his own. All the things he tells himself don’t amount to much when he’s left alone on the corner though, as the bus rumbles away and the other children run to their parents.

Dean swallows, setting his focus on the steep road that leads home. There’s nothing to be scared of. He just needs to get to Kerry’s house and he’ll be fine. The gnawing, empty feeling of _alone_ will be gone as soon as he’s there with Sammy. Mom and Grandpa would want him to be brave. Cas would want him to be brave.

He makes it up the hill to home in record time, he thinks, then continues past, almost racing to Kerry’s door. As usual it’s open before he can even knock.

“Hey big guy, no escort today?” Kerry asks with a smile.

“Mom said to tell you she had business,” Dean repeats.

“Yeah, she called. Three times. I was talking about…” Kerry looks him over then shrugs. “Well, I’m always happy to have you. Sam’s in the living room.”

Sam grins and lets out a squeal when he sees him, throwing his arms around his brother when Dean reaches him. “Hey, Sammy, did you have a fun day so far?”

“No smurfs,” Sam pouts, indicating the TV, which is showing a soap opera.

“Yeah, no smurfs ’till Saturday morning. But then there’s _Ghostbusters_ after that. I promise to watch ’em with you.”

Sam’s face lights up and Dean smiles too. “Play yard?”

Dean looks up expectantly at Kerry. She has a much bigger back yard than they do, though they have more lawn since Kerry’s is full of beds bursting with herbs and flowers and veggies. “As long as you don’t trample anything,” Kerry says.

The boys nod and rush out. In the sun, with the scent of growing things all around and with Sam laughing beside him Dean’s worry is almost forgotten. It’s going to be okay.

 

**Thursday, May 1, 1986**

**Sierra Nevada Mountains, California**

 

“I hate the woods. How did I forget I hate the woods?” Mary mutters, pushing a branch out of the way.

“Hey. Come on now, it could be worse,” Rufus says and Mary’s rolling her eyes before he even starts his next point. “No bugs.”

“That’s because it’s _forty degrees_. What kind of insane campers even come up here this time of year?”

“No idea. Camping is just plain stupid if you ask me,” Rufus replies, pushing further ahead on the rocky trail. There are still a few patches of snow on the ground visible through the junipers and pines. “God gave us houses for a reason. You’ve got to be a special kind of white crazy to wanna give that up and sleep on the dirt for fun. Probably serves these idiots right, gettin’ eaten.”

Mary hides her laughter. Rufus Turner isn't like any hunter she’s ever met. Probably because most of the hunters she knew growing up where somehow related to her and had the same non-nonsense, no-fun, Campbell attitude. Rufus tolerates no bullshit, but he’s also a never ending font of observations on pretty much everything. He seems to simultaneously take nothing and everything seriously. The ride up the foothills of the Sierra, stopping in Placerville for supplies, was taken up entirely by Rufus holding forth on various topics. She’s learned he hates Regan, likes Johnny Walker, and just finished dealing with a nasty possession in South Dakota before this. She’s not going to admit it anytime soon, but she’s starting to like him.

What she doesn’t like is wasting time, and it’s been nearly two days of following a crappy trail and nothing has shown its head yet. At least the exhaustion the last two nights has helped her to sleep better.

“Wonder if they’ll ever go camping again,” Mary mutters. It’s a long shot that the victims are still alive. It’s been almost three weeks for the first one. Still, pretending there’s a chance for them is better than not. A tree branch takes that moment to snap into her face. “Son of a bitch!”

Rufus laughs. “You gettin’ tired back there?”

“If we don’t catch a break soon I’m stringing you up as bait, Turner.”

“Oh, wouldn’t be the first time.”

They come to a clearing and pause. Without the sound of their footsteps, Mary can appreciate the quiet of the woods. It’s not silence. There’s the sounds of wind in the trees and distant flowing water, and their own breath. It’d almost be peaceful if she didn’t know what was out there. They both settle on an outcropping a granite. Rufus offers Mary a canteen and she takes a swig.

“So what got you back in?”

Mary raises an eyebrow at Rufus as she hands him back the canteen. “You know about my family, Campbell legacy and all that,” Mary answers, trying and failing to keep the contempt out of her voice.

“Oh believe me I do,” Rufus replies. “But I also know Campbells hate workin’ with folks who ain’t other Campbells, and you were out of the game; so this ain’t about your asshole cousins and daddy.”

“They aren’t _all_ assholes.” Chris’s wife Shari isn’t so bad. Though Mary’s only met her once. They swapped stories about kids for a long afternoon while Dad and Chris took care of a salt and burn in Mountain View. Shari wasn’t born a Campbell though. And she’s the only tolerable one Mary can think of. “Okay, yeah they are.”

“So I’m right. Now, there’s only so many things get a person into this life – or back into it, as it were,” Rufus continues and Mary wonders if she should just sit back and relax for a while. “You’re born into it, or you lose someone to it. Take that miserable sack up in South Dakota I just left. I could see it in his eyes that he had the itch. I bet I get a call from him in less than a month.”

“You could tell him to walk away.”

Rufus laughs, hollow. “Like you walked away?”

“I got ten good years.”

“And then?”

Mary purses her lips. She’s never talked about this with another hunter.

Rufus pushes on. “I tried it too. Met a nice gal in Omaha a few years back. Kept finding my ass back in Nebraska until I thought I was ready to hang it all up. Spent most of last year tryin’ to be a respectable member of society. But I kept hearin’ stories, gettin’ calls. After a while I couldn’t let it go.”

“Did she know?” Mary asks. “John, my husband…he didn’t know.”

“I think she suspected,” Rufus says, taking another pull at the canteen and licking his lips like he wishes it was something stronger. “Lying all the time, though; it gets tirin’,”

“You get used to it.” Mary shrugs. “You should tell her though,” she adds softly. “In case…”

“You think if he’d known he’d’ve made it?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” It’s the truth. She’s gone over all her mistakes so many times that none of it makes sense any more.

“So what did it?” Rufus asks after a beat, watching Mary carefully.

“Demon,” she answers, her voice brittle.

“Damn,” Rufus breathes. “So you can’t even kill the motherfucker.”

“I’m still gonna try.”

Rufus raises an eyebrow but doesn’t contradict her. “So, that’s your story then, born into _and_ lost someone,” Rufus muses. “Double trouble.”

“How about you?” Mary asks, wondering if she’ll get something sincere or another line of bullshit.

Rufus shrugs. “Had a brother. Don’t have one now.”

“I’m sorry,” Mary says automatically.

“I was a kid, it don’t hurt so much anymore,” he says and Mary knows it’s a lie. “Mostly when I bother to think about it, I think about her. About Omaha.” Mary remains silent, waiting for Rufus to say more. The normal bravado falls away. “There’s good people out there that need protecting from the mess we live with. They deserve a bit of peace.”

“So do we.”

“There ain’t no picket fences for us, sweetheart,” Rufus says. “And I know you’re thinking about that boy of yours.”

“Boys,” Mary corrects.

“All you can do for them is keep them as safe as you can for as long as you can, then make sure they’re ready when the time comes.”

Mary lets her head drop into her hands, weighed down by that thought. Her hand grazes where the branch hit her and she winces. She draws her hand away and contemplates the smear of blood on her fingers. She hears the crack of a twig behind them in almost the same instant.

“Rufus…how hungry do you think this thing is?” Mary asks quietly, every muscle going tense.

“Why d’you ask?”

“Because I think it’s caught our scent.”

They make eye contact, communicating in a language Mary’s known over half her life. _Weapons ready. It’s coming from behind._

Another snap of wood breaks the silence.

They aren’t fast enough.

 

**Santa Cruz**

 

Dean’s third day getting off the bus without Mom there to meet him isn’t bad at all because Grandpa is there. Dean’s excited, not just because it’s Thursday and he generally likes Thursdays, but also because tomorrow is Sammy’s birthday and today Grandpa is taking him to buy his present.

“Do you think Mom will get home tonight?” Dean asks, peering through the passenger window of Grandpa’s big Buick. He’s the only one that lets Dean ride in front.

“Don’t know for sure.” He doesn’t seem worried ,which makes Dean feel better. Not that’s he’s scared. “You decide where we’re going?”

“Pet store?” 

“Nice try.”

Dean sighs. “We can go to the Sports Authority. I’ll get him a stupid ball.”

“Hey now, watch the attitude,” Grandpa scolds and Dean tries not to pout.

“Mom will be home in time for the party, right?” It’s not really a party. Kerry and a few other kids are coming over in the afternoon for cake and games. But Dean’s still excited. No one ever comes to play at their house.

“She promised she would, didn’t she?”

It’s not really an answer and it doesn’t really stop Dean from worrying, but he reminds himself that Mom is doing something important and Cas promised to watch out for her. He still misses her though. He watches out the window for the rest of the drive, quietly hoping that Cas is taking care of her.

The Sports Authority is bigger than Dean remembers. It smells like rubber and the aisles are so full Dean’s not sure where to start.

“I’m gonna go and look at the grown up toys in the back for a sec, you wanna come or look around?” Grandpa asks.

Dean can just make out the rack of rifles at the far end of the store that Grandpa is eying. He makes a face. “Mom says not to play with those.”

“Oh I’ll be teaching you to use one soon enough,” Grandpa chuckles and ruffles Dean’s hair. “Go find a present for your brother and stay out of trouble.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Dean wanders through the aisles slowly, not quite sure what the differences are between all the different types of balls and shoes and fishing poles. He glances to the back of the store every few minutes, where Grandpa is in a heavy discussion with the man behind the counter with the guns. Eventually he finds a row of soccer balls, just high enough to be out of reach.

“Need a little help there, son?”

Dean looks up into the face of the man that spoke. He’s a bit heavy, with light, curly hair and a polo shirt. He’s smiling but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Dean knows he’s not supposed to talk to strangers but…“I need to reach the soccer balls.”

“Well, I’m here to help. But, you know, we just got a new shipment of real special ones in,” the man says. “How about I get you one of those?”

“Oh…okay.” The man is wearing the same type of shirt as the guy Grandpa was talking to, so he probably know what’s he talking about. Right? “It’s for my brother,” Dean tells the employee as he trails after him through a heavy steel door and into the back rooms.

“Big bro or little?” the man asks, glancing back at Dean with dark eyes.

“Little…” The man opens yet another door and Dean catches a whiff of the air from outside. Must be where they keep the trash as well as shipments because it smells rotten and awful.

“Bet you take real good care of him.”

They step fully into the alley and something in it makes Dean shiver. “I think I should go find my Grandpa.” Dean turns back to the door just as it slams shut.

“Oh come on, kid, no need to be scared,” the man grins.

It occurs to Dean in that moment exactly how small he is compared to this man. And how alone they are in the alley. He can’t even hear the cars or anything. His heart is pounding and he has nowhere to run and this stranger is looming over him. “Please, I…”

The sound of growls cuts Dean off as a missile of dirt and fur launches itself between him and the man. Dean barely has a moment to register what’s happening before the guy is howling in pain as the animal (Raccoon? Dog? Really big ferret?) attaches itself to his leg.

“What the hell! Get off!” the stranger yowls over the snarls of the small beast.

“What’s going on out here?” a new voice yells. Dean is jostled aside as the door opens again and the man from the gun counter emerges into the alley.

“Dean, I told you – what in god’s name?!”

Dean launches himself at his grandfather’s legs, locking him in a hug. “I’m sorry I…” Dean’s protests are drowned out by the sound of yelping followed by running feet and yelling. When he dares to open his eyes and look up his grandfather and the other store employee are staring down the alley. The dog (Dean is pretty sure it’s a dog) is barking angrily into the main street and the stranger is gone.

“Are you alright?” Grandpa demands, shaking Dean.

“I’m fine.” Dean pulls away. “He said he was gonna help me find a special present for Sammy!”

“That man doesn’t even work here,” the other, or only, employee sighs. “I’m very sorry, sir, I-”

“We won’t be buying anything here,” Grandpa says. “Come on, Dean.”

“Wait!” Dean pulls away from his grandfather’s grip and runs down the alley, towards the dog. The animal has stopped barking and turns back to him. It regards Dean, then begins to approach him. It’s one of the weirdest looking dogs Dean has ever seen: its legs are too short and ears far too big, and it moves with an obvious limp. It doesn’t look like it’s eaten enough in a long time either. And it’s filthy.

“Dean, get away from that thing, it just attacked a man,” Grandpa orders.

“I think it was protecting me!” Dean argues, turning back. The little dog reaches Dean, nudges his hand with its head and whimpers. Dean stares down into the creature’s golden eyes and hesitantly rubs behind its huge ears.

“Listen, sir, if you don’t take that thing out of here, I’m calling the pound,” the store guy says.

“Grandpa, we can’t let them!” Dean’s pretty sure he’s won the second Grandpa takes a good look at the dog. It doesn’t have a tail, only a little stump, but it still manages to wag it.

“Fine, we’ll take him to the vet to get looked at.” Dean whoops and picks up the dog, who is mostly fur and bones. It huffs happily. “ _Just_ to the vet, then a shelter.”

 

Dean doesn’t argue when Grandpa insists (hours later, after the dog is washed and has a tiny splint on his right front paw) that “the mutt” sleeps in the garage. Dean doesn’t want to ruin Sammy’s surprise. He does sneak out at night to pet him though, which the still-nameless dog really like. Also the cookies Dean brings.

“Thanks for today, boy,” Dean whispers. “When Mom comes home tomorrow and hears about how brave you, are she won’t make you leave. She’s gonna like you. Just as soon as she’s back.”

 

**Sierra Nevada Mountains. Ish.**

 

Mary’s dreams are muddled and laced with pain and cold. She’s lost in the woods and there are things in the distance with yellow eyes waiting for her and the far off sound of screams and fire.

_Mary._

The other sounds and shadows fade away. She’s alone in the backyard. Or is it Kerry’s? She’s not sure but those flowers wilted months ago, didn’t they?

_Mary you need to wake up. Don’t move when you do. It’s in the cave with you._

Mary remembers. Rufus. The blood. The wendigo.

_It’s distracted by the others. It hasn’t fully restrained you yet. Use the knife._

She needs fire too.

_Your pack is a few feet behind you._

Mary turns in the dream, though the voice seemed to come from all around. She catches a glimpse of blue out of the corner of her eye.

_Now, Mary._

May's eyes fly open and the world rushes back. It’s so dark she can only make out the vaguest outlines of shapes wherever she is. A cave maybe? It has to be the wendigos’s lair. The cold air is fetid with the smell of blood and shit and decomposition. Mary tries to control her breathing and remain still as she takes inventory of her body and situation. Her hands are bound but not tightly and whatever rope or reeds the thing used are weak and frayed. That’s good. Her head is pounding in pain and there’s something sticky on the side of her face. Head wound. Not good. She can hear movement behind her, and heavy wet breaths. There’s a low moan of pain and the soft clatter of old bones under new weight.

She hates that she knows that sound.

She carefully fumbles her folding knife from the waistband of her pants where it’s still clipped. The snap of the ropes coming apart makes her heart stop, but the wendigo doesn’t pause in its attention to its other prey.

“Please…”

Mary freezes at the sound of another voice from somewhere in the dark. The moon must be shining outside because now that her eyes have adjusted she can make out a few shapes in the black.

“Please…whoever you…please let us go…” The voice is weak, female. The second camper was a woman named Chelsea Something-or-other. The only woman.

A low growl cuts off Mary’s thoughts and she hears something heavy drop to the ground then a groan. Rufus. At least he’s still alive.

Mary can feel the creature moving towards the other victim – Chelsea, right, these are people with names, shit. There’s a weight to the darkness, a dread that fills her as the thing that was a person before it got a taste for human flesh comes closer. Mary moves as slow and smooth as she can, pushing away the pain the blossoms in her shoulder when she shifts. She gave birth twice, a little dislocated shoulder or is nothing. Chelsea’s whimpering grows louder as the wendigo closes in on her. There’s a hissing, wet noise and more clattering but Mary keeps moving, straining her hands in the dark until she feels her pack right where she was told it would be. She’s got to send her subconscious a fruit basket or something.

She rolls to her back. A wave of nausea hits her and the world spins. Concussion. Great. But she can feel the handle of the flare gun. Only one shot. If she throws it away, she and these people and Rufus…

 _Don’t think about that. Don’t think about the boys or Dad or any of it_ , she yells at herself inside her own head. _Just move fast._

“Get away from her you flesh-eating son of a bitch!” Mary screams and the wendigo turns to her. She can barely see the outline of its huge form but that along with the fact the fucker is charging at her is enough to line up a clear shot.

The sound of the flare exploding in light and flame in the thing’s face is drowned out by the wendigo’s screams. Mary launches herself up, knife still in hand, tackles, then stabs. She hears a voice calling her name, people screaming, and she can’t see anything but the fire and brightness. Her little knife punches through flesh once, twice, three times and the wendigo howls.

“Mary! Get back now!” Rufus yells. Mary finally sees him, just struggling free of his own bindings and reaching for what she prays is a hidden weapon. Mary stumbles up and away from the thing as Rufus takes aim with what turns out to be a .45 and unloads the entire cartridge into the smoldering, screaming monster. The gunfire is deafening and sends shocks through her whole body that reverberate even when silence falls. She looks up at Rufus in the glow of the flare embedded in the wendgio’s skull.

“Nice shot,” Rufus says, though Mary can barely hear him over the ringing in her ears.

She rises weakly to her feet, looking around for the other victims. Chelsea is tied with her arms above her, tears streaming down her face. Behind her are the two men. They’re covered in dirt and blood and look half starved, but their eyes are open and alive.

“Who are you…what…” Chelsea asks, voice shaking as Mary limps towards her and begins cutting her bonds.

“It’s okay, it’s over.” Mary surprises herself with the calm in her voice. “My name is Mary, this is Rufus. We’re here to help.”

 

**Friday, May 2, 1986**

**Santa Cruz**

 

“Dean? Present _now_?” Sam asks, tugging on Dean’s sleeve.

“I told you we have to wait for Mom.” Dean stares at the gate expectantly. Sam’s preschool friends Remy, Gloria and TIm are there, along with David from Dean’s grade and Kerry. Dean hasn’t really been playing with anyone though; only watching the gate for Mom. He’d been _sure_ she would be there for breakfast, but that’s okay, they can make pancakes tomorrow. Those are better on the weekend anyway. And then he’d been sure she would be there after school, but it was just Grandpa. Then she hadn’t been there when everyone arrived. That’s when Dean had really started worrying.

“Deeeaaaaannn,” Sam whines. “Present!”

Dean turns to look Sam in the face. He doesn’t look afraid like Dean, but he doesn’t look happy either.

“Please?” It’s the small tremble of Sammy’s lip that really gets Dean.

“Okay, just ’cause you said please,” Dean agrees with a dramatic sigh. He ruffles Sam’s hair and rushes to the garage where the dog – he still doesn’t have a name yet – is waiting.

Now that its clean, the dog is sort of a dirty caramel color, with white on the bottom, including his stubby legs. The vet had called him something Dean hadn’t heard of – a corky? – and mentioned that you really don’t see these dogs as strays. Aside from the hurt leg and not weighing enough, he’s in okay health and the doctor guesses he’s maybe two years old. The little thing manages to wag the entire back half of his body when it sees Dean and starts sniffing him expectantly. “I don’t have food, but it’s time for you to meet Sammy,” Dean explains and the dog calms down a bit. He doesn’t resist at all when Dean hooks him onto a leash and leads him through the house and out the sliding glass door into the back yard.

The backyard is sloped and Sam is with the other children by the fence at the bottom when Dean brings the dog out. Before Dean can even call to Sammy the thing is off like a shot, rushing through the grass to the gaggle of children.

“Hey wait!” Dean yells, trying to catch up but the dog has already tackled Sam to the ground, nosing at his face and licking him.

“Well, I guess he knows who he belongs to!” Dean hears his grandfather laugh as he comes up behind him. “Smart little furball.”

“I think they like each other,” Dean says, smiling up at Grandpa. He glances past him to the gate and sighs, the weight of worry returning. “Should we-”

“You’re _kidding me_.”

Dean spins when he hears the voice come from the open door to the house. His mother is standing with her arms crossed and a terrifying expression on her face. The urge to run and hug her evaporates very quickly.

“Oh, we’re in for it now,” Grandpa sighs and strides to Mom.

 

 

“I leave for a few days and you give them the one thing I told them no on!” Mary snaps at her father as he reaches the porch. “I’m out there getting my ass kicked and…” She stops herself at her father’s expression. He obviously sees the bruise on her forehead she tried to hide with her hair. For some reason she hadn’t packed make-up for the hunt.

“You look like shit,” Dad says, a question and worry in his voice.

“Well, the thing’s dead so it was worth it,” Mary answers with a stiff shrug.

Her shoulder isn’t so bad, really. The walk out the woods hadn’t been easy. They’d been lucky enough to find a ranger near two in the morning, and from there it was a long ride to the ER, but they’d made it. The doctors in Placerville had been too focused on the other victims to worry much about her or Rufus. Their bumps and bruises (and mild concussions (and fucked up shoulders)) were nothing compared to the horrible state of the almost-wendigo-meals. Mary lost count of how many times she’d been told “if you had even been a day later...”

She and Rufus had agreed beforehand to call it a bear and that was the story they stuck to with the doctors and authorities. The victims, Chelsea in particular, had given them looks, but they had been a bit too shell-shocked to say anything different. The hunters had checked out against medical advice after making sure everyone was going to live then hightailed it home. Hopefully the hospital and local police wouldn’t spend too much time looking for Linda McCartney and Sammy Davis when they investigated things.

Mary’s too tired to feel bad about the cursory farewell she gave to Rufus. He knows he can call her and she knows he will. He still needs to get his coat back after all. In the meantime, he was going to check on his sad sack in South Dakota and she had a birthday party to get to.

And she’d come home to a _dog_.

“The mutt just sort of…happened, hon,” Dad says and Mary gives him a dubious look. “We were out yesterday getting Sam a ball and some guy got Dean in an alley and–”

“What?!”

“And the damn furball saved his ass,” her father goes on, his voice firm and his eyes placating. “Listen. Dean’s fine and the dog was gonna get sent to the pound if we didn’t take it.”

“That’s what pounds are for!” Mary hisses. She hears a high pitched squeal of joy and looks down the yard at Sam and the other children playing with the ridiculous creature. It’s a perfect scene and the little mutt seems to be in heaven.

“You feel free to tell that to the boys,” Dad says, smugness radiating off him in waves.

“I’m not…” Mary stops herself. She doesn’t even know why she’s arguing. The battle is lost. Just as she thinks it, Sam looks up and sees her. He pushes the dog aside and runs up the gentle slope of the lawn to her, throwing his arms around her knees.

“Mommy! Mommy!” Sam crows into the dirty creases of her jeans. Mary hefts him up into her arms, despite her shoulder screaming in pain. “Dog from Dean! Best present!” he tells her with a gap-toothed grin.

“Yes I saw that. He’s short like you!” Sam laughs and squeezes her into another hug. The creature in question takes that moment to sniff at Mary’s ankles by way of introduction. It possibly the most absurd dog she’s ever seen, with ears just about as long as its tiny legs, and it gazes up at her with an expectant, toothy smile, tongue lolling out to one side. Mary gives her father one more glare over Sam’s head then gives up. “Does he have a name yet?”

“Uh uh,” Sam says, shaking his head.

“Well, we gotta fix that, maybe Dean can help. Where’d he go?”

“Mommy hurt?” Sam asks, reaching a small hand to Mary’s face. She tries not to wince when he touches the bruise.

“Mommy fell down on her trip, but I’m fine,” she tells him. “I’m gonna go find your brother, okay?”

“Okay!” Sam agrees as she sets him down. He runs off, the dog bounding after him.

“I’ll get the cake out; you get yourself cleaned up enough not to scare anyone else,” Dad grumbles. “Go easy on Dean, okay? He’s been worried.”

Mary sighs, trying to remember if she even _owns_ heavy enough concealer. At least she knows the pain pills are in the same bathroom drawer as the make up so it will be an easy trip. “You know…I don’t remember you ever coming home hurt when I was little.”

“Because we didn’t ever let you see,” Dad answers. “Sometimes I’d wait a day to heal up some before getting back. Hated waiting to see you though.”

“I almost missed the party,” Mary states, laughter filtering to her from the edge of the yard.

“That’s the life,” Dad shrugs. “But you got the job done. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks,” Mary mutters and turns back into the house.

Seven minutes, six ibuprofen, and a layer of concealer two shades too pale later, Mary steps into the garage. The tarp over the Impala is askew, of course.

Dean starts from where he’s moping in the back seat when Mary pulls open the creaking door to join him. “Hi, Mom,” he say quietly as she scoots in beside him with ample room to spare. She always forgets how huge this car is.

“I’m not mad, honey,” she tells him before he can apologize. “Well, okay, I’m a little mad at Grandpa. But he always was a sap for animals.”

“Does that mean we can keep him?” Dean asks, finally looking up at her. God she hopes he and Sam grow out of the puppy dog eyes soon, between them and now an actually puppy she’s absolutely doomed.

“Yes, but–” She gasps in pain as Dean tackles her in a hug. “ _But_ you and Sam have to work very hard to take care of him, okay?”

“We will!”

“And you’re probably gonna need to come up with a name.” Mary shifts to spare her shoulder and also because she is apparently sitting on a green army man. She shakes her head and sticks it in an ashtray out of the way.

“I’ve been trying to think of one but I don’t know,” Dean pouts.

“Well, he’s the fourth man in the house, how about Ringo?” Mary suggests, pretty proud of the idea.

Dean nods vigorously. “Who does that make me, Sammy and Grandpa?”

“Grandpa is so serious he's got to be George, and Sam and you are Paul and John,” Mary tells him, her voice trailing off a bit.

“Like daddy.” Dean settles against her side, the leather of John’s precious car creaking under his small weight.

“He hated dogs you know,” Mary tells Dean, who gives her a curious look. “Got bit when he was a few years older than you. Had to get stitches.”

“Really?”

“Bled all over his mother’s nice carpets. Said she just about killed the neighbors that owned the thing,” Mary goes on, remembering the way John’s eyes had crinkled in glee when he told the story. It always made her sad that she never got to meet Millie Winchester. Nowadays they would have so much to talk about.

“What about his dad?” Dean asks, almost reading Mary’s thoughts.

“That was after Grandpa Henry went away.” Dean is quiet beside her. She wonders what hurts more, losing a father to death or never knowing if one will even come back. “He was allergic to cats too. Your dad that is.” Dean laughs at that. “So we never had pets. I always talked about getting a fish but he said they were better on a plate.” Dean chuckles again. “I’m sorry I was late for the party.”

“Did you get the Winnebago?”

“Wendigo, yes. Saved everyone too.”

“Wow,” Dean replies in wonder and Mary feels a strange mix of pride and fear. “Did Cas take care of you?” Dean asks after a beat, and it’s Mary’s turn to laugh softly.

“Yes he did,” she says, indulging the fantasy. Who knows what woke her up in that cave; maybe it was Dean’s imaginary angel. “Please tell him ‘thank you’ for me.”

“Okay,” Dean nods. “Can we go eat cake now? We need to tell Sam and Grandpa Ringo’s name.”

“Sure, let’s go.”

They make their careful way out of the Impala, and Mary watches as Dean resets the tarp almost reverently, patting the car when he’s done. She’s so tired she can barely see straight as she follows Dean through the house and out the back. Next hunt she’s going to have to make sure not to rush it so much.

The next one. She pushes the idea away, along with the thought of the ever-growing file on the demon. The wall in the office is covered now and there’s a whole drawer full of clippings and possible clues. Maybe getting to know some hunters outside of the family will give her a lead. Rufus had mentioned some people in Nevada and Colorado…

Mary’s train of thought it breaks off when she steps into the sun in the backyard. Dean and her father are both laughing because Ringo has apparently eaten an entire slice of cake off Kerry’s unguarded plate. In the brightness of the California sun, her boys laughing and safe, Mary can almost pretend she feels secure. At least the happiness isn’t a lie.

 

∞

 

Dean can tell it’s a dream because the car is moving and no one ever drives the Impala anymore. But right now they’re whizzing past endless golden fields. The windows are open and the sun is bright and a man with dark hair is sitting behind the wheel.

“You should be steering,” Dean tells him from his place in the back seat.

Cas turns and looks back at him. He always looks confused. “I don’t know how.”

Dean sighs and rolls his eyes. “Just put your hands on the wheel.”    

Cas obeys stiffly as Dean hoists himself over the front seat, which is a bit difficult, even in the dream.

“Is that safe?” Cas asks while Dean’s leg is stuck.

“It’s not real, Cas.”

“Oh.”

Dean smiles from his new position the passenger seat, glancing at the indistinct road and then to Cas. He’s dressed the same as always: trench coat, backwards tie, suit. Dean doesn’t know why he expected him to be dirty from the woods or something.

“My mom says thanks for watching out for her.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do more. But she did well.” Cas’s voice is always low and serious, even when he’s trying to be kind.

“That’s good,” Dean answers with pride. They sit in silence for a while. The rumble of the engine is more distant than Dean remembers. “We got a dog.”

“I noticed,” Cas answers. Dean stares up and wonders why the wind from the windows isn’t moving a hair on Cas’s head. He wants to ask but every time he does the answer is about echoes and perception and he never understands. It’s hard enough to remember whole conversations after he wakes up, so he doesn’t bother. “It’s…an interesting creature.”

“Interesting how?”

Cas is still as he thinks and the dream scenery fades and shifts in the window behind him. “Not dangerous. But…special. The way you and your mother and Sam are special.”

“And you too,” Dean reminds him, trying to be nice.

Cas looks sidelong at Dean and gives him a small smile. His eyes are so blue they almost glow. “Perhaps. It’s hard to tell.”

“You should use the pedals too,” Dean reminds Cas, looking down at his unmoving feet on the floorboard.

“Oh, apologies.” Cas presses both feet to the pedals and the car speeds up. “Is that better?”

“Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wendigo is meant to be a member of the Donner party, which is a bit of history that may make you sad if you google it. But what might make you happy is gogling images of Fawn Pembroke Welsh Corgis, which is what Ringo is.


	5. Listen to the Colors of Your Dreams

**1989**

**~~Santa Cruz, California~~  The Ether**

 

Everything Castiel observes in Dean Winchester’s life he has seen before. Technically ‘seen’ is not the right word. Castiel does not see or hear or know in the distinct ways that humans like Dean do. Everything is waves, around and through him. Even his thoughts are unconfined vibrations, humming through the space between atoms. Once they were barely audible over the distant, indistinct roar of the machinery of the cosmos. There is much more silence now that he is alone, and it is easier to know himself, now that he is truly listening and looking. Everything Dean Winchester sees and does are things Castiel has observed and watched for millennia, and yet, now they are new and fascinating. Castiel believes it must be because he never considered why humans did, well, much of anything. Nor did he contemplate what it felt like for them to scrape their knees, or take a drink of cool water in the summer or settle into a warm bed or feel the wind on their faces. Watching Dean, he thinks of those things very often, and wonders.

Six years is a faction of time so small in the life of the universe, of the earth. Decades have passed Castiel by in a shimmering of awareness. But the time he has watched Dean has been more full of questions and observation than the last millennium. Perhaps it has something to do with exile; or the admittedly unique and singular focus of his attention. It is another thing to consider.

It has taken Castiel a while to understand that there is so much more to Dean’s small life than the millions of details Castiel perceives. To Dean, sunlight is more than just light and photons and radiation. It is comfort and warmth and peace. The deep, sharp vibrations of gunshots as Samuel Campbell teaches him how to shoot resonate into Dean’s ears and bones and he winces, but they mean something beyond the sound. They echo with the fight Samuel and Mary have had going for the last two weeks and the fear Dean confesses to Castiel while his mother is away for the third time in two months. Castiel could once sense fear in mortals, could read and understand the electricity in their minds, if he so desired (though he usually didn’t). It doesn’t work that way with the Winchesters. He has to ask. And Dean always answers.

The language of dreams is a strange one, but it allows Castiel to speak, as it were, to another. Dean wonders if he is being selfish sometimes, asking Castiel to stay with him rather than protect his mother. Castiel explains again how little he can do without a vessel. Dean smiles and says he’s glad he has someone to talk to, because he can’t tell Sammy he’s scared because Sammy needs him to be brave, and he can’t tell Grandpa because Grandpa says fear is for wimps. Soon he’s gonna be a man, Dean says, quoting Samuel, and he’s gonna have to be brave no matter what. He would tell Mom but he tried that before and her eyes were so sad when he said it. So he tells Castiel and Castiel tells Dean that he does not always have to be brave. Dean thanks Castiel for listening.

This is something Castiel understands. The desire to simply be heard. Perhaps it is part of loneliness. Perhaps it is habit from an existence spent in prayer. Ingrained by thousands of year of being able to express an idea or whatever angels had that passed for feeling to a brother without words or waiting. Castiel can still hear them, his brothers and sisters whispering above. He chooses not to listen, at least not very often. After the first few years they stopped saying Sam Winchester’s name and the song of grace became too much of a burden when Castiel could not reply. So he dampened that frequency to almost nothing. Between that and the hum of the tear in reality nearby (a small one, hardly important) he barely hears his family any more.

When there is a great outcry, he can still perceive it. The last was years ago. It came when another angel fell. Differently from Castiel, of course. He heard the screams of her name as she burned through the sky. He considered finding her and asking her why. How did it feel? He wondered. But he didn’t want to risk losing track of Dean or leaving any of the family unprotected. Not that he does much more than add to the static around them. Still, it feels better to have some purpose, to spread his wings through the ether until they surrounded the little house on the hill, sanctifying, pushing away black smoke when in approaches the edges of the city.

Dean asks him what it feels like to fly, and Castiel cannot explain it in human words. But it must be something like the dream Dean often has of racing down the highway in the black car Castiel has never seen move in the waking world and so that is what he tells him. Dean smiles and asks more questions. Always questions. In this way Dean reminds him of his sister. Castiel thinks he knows why she fell. She had so many questions and had whispered to Castiel of mysteries and desires. He had ignored and dismissed her.

Now he asks them too. He watches as Dean savors a hamburger at a diner two towns over, a treat just because it’s Thursday. He is surrounded by wavelengths of red and yellow and the sound of cars and music but his focus is on the food and it is a mystery to Castiel. He can look at the meal down to its molecules and see how it reacts on a human tongue, but he cannot know why Dean dances a bit in his chair at the taste, legs that still cannot reach the floor swinging happily below the table. He knows the magic of salt, understands when Mary Winchester chides that Dean has put enough on his french fries to keep out every demon in California, but Castiel does not know the taste.

Dean is confused when Castiel asks him to describe it, sitting in a blurring replica of the place in a dream, a week later. He uses words that mean things to Dean that Castiel cannot understand. Greasy (but in a good way). Charred. Juicy. Beefy (Dean laughs at that one). And the french fries are a riddle of textures. Crunchy and fluffy and warm and crisp. Castiel knows density and malleability and the difference between a rock and a cloud, but he also knows that Dean feels these things in ways he cannot. Or has not? Surely he must have.

Within a vessel he had to know sensation and touch. He searches and searches for the memory and finds…more than nothing. There are rough-hewn holes in thousands of years of perception and knowledge. And there are also echoes. Echoes of echoes of hunger and taste that he knew once. The search makes his grace ache and recoil. He thanks Dean and lets himself fade from the dream, shedding the image of himself that has become familiar even though its origin is as great a mystery to him as those patches of emptiness.

He does understand color. He likes to hover near Mary as she savors the green of their small yard. He follows Dean and Sam through the neighbor’s beds of flowers and herbs as she tells them their names. The brightness and variety, the microcosms of life in the soil and the air bring Castiel a modicum of peace. He enjoys the perfect orange of the poppies and the yellow of the lemons that Dean one day tricks Sam into eating. He watches as the boys rub each herb and smell their hands, and is glad that even if he cannot smell them at least he knows the hundred different greens and infinite geometry of variation among them.

There is peace as well in music, letting the vibrations of it waft through his form as he watches the family listen. The radio is always on in the kitchen when Mary, or more likely Samuel, cooks with the boys. Mary mouths all the words to familiar songs, singing of Yellow Submarines and Days in the Life. In the evening when the boys are asleep Samuel sits alone in the office with the station tuned to symphonies and concertos and violins and never tells anyone how they can bring him to tears. Sam wants to hear Christmas songs at Halloween despite Dean’s protests. And Dean lies with his eyes closed next to the record player, or even once in a while inside the old car that is his secret sanctuary, the one that Dean’s father drives in his dreams. He treasures the records and tapes that remain in boxes marked with handwriting that does not belong to Mary or Samuel or Dean. When Mary laughs and says that Zeppelin was John’s favorite too, Castiel understands.

He watches Sam and Dean laugh in the rain, roll in the mud and he hears the sharpness in Mary’s voice when she yells at them for how they leave more dirt in the bathroom than there was in the garden (though this is clearly untrue). He wonders about the taste of rain and the feel of mud. He worries when Dean slips later in the kitchen and hits his elbow hard on a chair. There’s more yelling and a fight with Sam being blamed and then shedding tears, the dog that is not quite a dog barking and Samuel telling everyone to shut up because he can’t hear the news. That night after Mary tucks them into bed, warning that she’s leaving for Minnesota early in the morning Dean is still upset and angry. Mary offers to sing for him but he turns her away. He’s too big for that now. Castiel has listened to Mary sing her sons to sleep for six years and when he sees regret glisten in her eyes, he thinks he understands that as well.

 

**Friday, December 1, 1989**

**Wisdom, Minnesota**

 

“I hate ghouls,” Mary groans, slamming the trunk of Bill’s Taurus closed and removing the three empty gasoline containers from sight. “I’m going to need three showers to get this smell out of my hair.”

“You could always cut it,” Bill suggests. “You’d look good with a nice high and tight.”

Mary laughs tiredly and shakes her head, a dirty blonde lock falling out of her braid as if to mock her. “Don’t make me tell your wife you’re flirting with me.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Bill says, narrowing his dark eyes. “Don’t you want me to live?”

“Then shut your mouth.” Bill smiles as he pulls two beers out of the decrepit cooler in the back seat. “Really?”

“What, you don’t think that kill is worth a celebration?” Bill says at Mary’s disapproving look.

“I think it’s worth more than a shitty, warm beer and a delay getting home,” Mary says. Bill’s arms fall at his sides but he doesn’t argue. “I promise I’ll buy you a cold one once we’re out of town, how’s that?”

“You know I can’t say no to a blonde.”

The drive out of town is quiet and calm. Hunting with Bill Harvelle is different than Rufus. He doesn’t talk half as much (then again, no one can), but when he does there’s a good humor about him that’s rare among hunters. He’s certainly not like any Campbell, not that Mary sees any of them very much, even now that she’s fully back in the game. They tend to be stand-offish about what they call Mary’s “vacation” and if they have any sympathy for her and her father’s losses, they don’t show it. She can’t blame them for that, really.

In the last few years the Campbell luck has run out and the family numbers are dwindling fast. Mary still regrets missing Shari’s funeral. It’s strange that Chris and the other parents among them, even after the losses, don’t seem to worry about their kids the way Mary does. Maybe because ‘normal’ isn’t in their vocabulary. She still worries about them; about the violence Gwen and Christian and Mark might grow to know. So far Bill and Ellen have been the only parents that understood wanting to protect children instead of raising them as soldiers in some war that’s never going to end.

“So is this really the last one?” Mary asks as they pass the county line. Bill’s been saying every hunt was his last for about three years, just after his little girl started asking.

“I might have one or two more in me,” Bill answers, as usual. “I’ll see what Rufus throws my way. Be the way, are you making that call or me?”

“Oh, I’m gonna get chewed out by a ten year old, you can deal with Rufus.”

“That’s right, you got in deep trouble for coming this far east, huh?”

“Among other things,” Mary mutters. “Said I’d be home two days ago.”

“Shit.” Bill gives her a sympathetic look. “I’ll drive faster then. We can probably make it halfway through South Dakota by midnight.”

“Great…” Mary sighs. Then it will be another day to Bill and Ellen’s in Nevada, then eight hours home at least. “Wouldn’t going through Nebraska be faster?” Mary’s a bit hesitant to suggest it, since she does try to give Kansas a wide berth on most hunts.

“Sioux Falls has got a free floor to sleep on, though,” Bill explains. “And cold beer.”

“I’m not following.”

“Hell, you ain’t met Bobby yet, have you?” Bill says with a laugh that makes Mary more curious.

“Rufus’s charity case? I thought he nearly got them killed on some routine haunting?”

“He’s getting better,” Bill shrugs. “Kid knows his lore.”

“Kid?”

“Okay, he’s my age, but he’s a real natural. And he’s been getting around,” Bill goes on. “You’ll like him. Makes Rufus look about as sweet as Barbara Bush.”

“I can’t wait,” Mary sighs. She leans her head against the window, wondering if maybe she can catch a few hours of sleep before it’s her turn to drive. The adrenaline from the three-ghoul barbecue is fading and she’s again reminded of how incredibly tired she is. It’s still hard to close her eyes though. “Have you seen Rufus’s earring?”

“Jesus, yes,” Bill laughs. “Can’t wait for some beastie to rip that thing off.”

“God, I can’t remember the last time I wore earrings,” Mary sighs. “He could have at least gone with silver.”

 

**Santa Cruz, California**

 

“Dean, do you wanna say good night to your mother?”

Dean looks up from his barely-eaten dinner to where his grandfather is standing with the kitchen phone held against his shoulder. “No,” Dean answers, wriggling in his seat.

Across the table Sam gives him a confused look before making a decision. “I do!” Sam hollers, pushing away from the table and running to Grandpa. Ringo perks up from his regular place under Sam’s chair and waddles out, stopping to look between Dean and his uneaten food. “Hi, Mommy!” Sam says happily.

Grandpa crosses his arms and frowns at Dean.  “Dean,” he says, his voice low. “Come here or-”

“I don’t want dessert. Or TV,” Dean argues before Grandpa can make the threat.

Grandpa’s eyebrows raise high towards his hairless scalp.

“Yeah, school was good,” Sam says as the staring contest between Dean and their grandfather continues. “We learned about amphibians.” Dean stiffens his stance as Sam glances at him. “Dean’s here but I think he’s mad.”

“Sam!” Dean cries and Grandpa relaxes with a satisfied smile.

“Yeah, he’s been a butt all day,” Sam giggles and Dean launches himself off the chair towards his little brother.

“That’s not a good word, Sammy!” Dean chides.

Sam laughs and darts out of reach. “Mom says I can say it if it’s true!”

“No she didn’t!” Dean grabs the phone. “Mom, I’m not…” Sam and Grandpa give Dean identical looks of satisfaction and he realizes he’s been tricked. “Sorry, Mom.”

“It’s okay, honey,” his mother’s voice crackles over the line. He can hear cars in the background and other voices. “I know you’re mad I’m late, but this job took longer than we thought.”

“But I wanna get a Christmas tree and Grandpa says we can’t until you’re home,” Dean whines.

“I know, sweetheart,” Mom says and she really does sound sorry. “Are you taking care of everyone in the meantime?”

“Ringo ate another stick of butter.” He doesn’t tell her the part about Sam being the one who fed it to him and laughed as the dog licked at it like an ice cream cone. It’s funny cause when Ringo gets ice cream he tries to chew it.

“Oh good, we’ll have the first dog in California that’s gonna need cholesterol meds,” Mom says, her voice tired and warm. “Did you help Sam write a letter to Santa?”

“Mom…” Dean groans.

“Please, hon, do that for me.”

Dean hears the sound of a truck horn in the distance. “Are you coming home soon?” Dean thinks of his mom at a truck stop or gas station in the cold somewhere far away and doesn’t like that at all.

“I’ll be home day after tomorrow.” Her voice is thin and sad. “I promise.”

“You promised no more hunts until after my birthday,” Dean shoots back, kicking a toe against the wall. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Sam pout and turn away.

“I know, I…”

“Promising things then not doing them is lying,” Dean pushes, anger bubbling inside him.

“I’ll drive fast and then when we get home we’ll do something special okay?”

Dean can hear the desperate note in her voice. He twists the phone cord around his fingers, considering. “Anything I want?”

“Anything.”

“Okay, I’ll help him with his letter,” Dean sighs. His Grandfather gestures for the phone back and Dean hands it over with a nod. “Bye, Mom.”

“Finish your dinner,” Grandpa tells him before lifting the receiver back to his ear. “Yeah, he’ll get over it…”

Dean hears him begin as he gets to the table. His plate is significantly emptier and Ringo has a green bean hanging out of his mouth when he gets back. “Did you let him eat off my plate?” Dean asks Sam – who is of course under the table with the dog.

“You weren’t gonna finish it,” Sam shrugs.

“Mom said for me to help you with your letter to Santa tomorrow,” Dean says.

Sam makes a face.  “Is Santa really real?” he asks, looking at Dean suspiciously.

Dean remembers when he asked Grandpa the same question. Well, he hadn’t really _asked_. He’d snuck into Grandpa’s office and started looking through the books to find out. He figured ghosts and angels and monsters were real, Santa had to be too. He hadn’t found anything good about Santa, just a lot of pictures that had given him nightmares for a weeks until Cas showed up to tell them to go away. Grandpa had been mad at first, but he’d also told Dean the truth – that ‘Santa’ was and had always been Mom. _You can’t count on some fable like Santa to save you, you gotta count on your family._ Maybe that had been part of the bad dreams too.

“Yeah, of course he is,” Dean tells Sam, forcing a smile. “Though he only gives present to good kids, so I don’t know if he’ll have anything for you.”

“Dean!” Sam wails. “I feed Ringo every night, and I pick up my room and make the bed and dry the dishes!”

Dean’s mouth quirks in a genuine smile this time. “Well, I guess you’re okay…” Dean sighs dramatically. “Maybe if you did my room too, he’ll give you extra presents though.”

“Dean!”

 

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

 

Mary wakes up when the engine turns off, startled by the sudden silence and lack of road vibration. “Are we in a junk yard?” she asks, fumbling her way out of the car and into the chilly South Dakota night.

“Bobby runs a salvage yard. Or Did. I’ve never actually seen a customer come in,” Bill explains as he pulls their duffles from the trunk. “I think he likes that there’s no clean line of approach to the house.”

“Sounds a bit paranoid,” Mary mutters, though she’s maybe a bit jealous.

“That’s a hunter for ya,” Bill says. They trudge up a deck that’s seen better days and the door opens before they can even knock. “Bobby, put down the gun,” Bill tells the bearded man in the cap pointing a shotgun at them.

“Ain’t you supposed to be shorter?” Bobby Singer demands, looking Mary up and down.

“This isn’t Ellen, Bobby, this is a friend,” Bill sighs.

Bobby lowers the gun minutely.

“Mary Winchester. I’ll shower in holy water if you like, as long as it means getting clean.”

“You the one saved Rufus’s fool ass back in Arizona?” Bobby asks as Bill shoves past him into a hall and kitchen that looks to be in worse shape than the porch.

“And in California. And Oregon. We’re still debating Montana,” Mary answers.

Bobby finally fully lowers the gun. “Sounds about right,” Bobby says, turning away and discarding the weapon. “So, what’re you drinking?”

“Whiskey,” Bill answers.

Mary takes in the surroundings. The place doesn’t look like it’s seen the right side of as sponge for a few years, and there are books and empty bottles all around. Pretty typical for a hunter, actually, though the sheer number of books, especially for someone so relatively new to the game, is impressive.

“Hey, speaking of that jackass,” Bill pipes up as Bobby hands him a dirty glass with a generous pour of something that Mary can smell from five feet away. “Please don’t tell me he called you about the Shtriga in Wisconsin.”

“And suggested we use the boys as bait?” Mary says, taking the glass Bobby hands her. “Good thing he was on the phone or he’d have been bait for my fist.”

“He’s shit a blocking a left hook, just for future reference,” Bobby offers.

Mary tries not to wince as she takes a swallow of the whiskey, though it burns all the way down. “Were you two talking about your crap taste in whiskey?” There’s a beat then Bill laughs. Bobby hasn’t smiled yet but he regards Mary with something bordering on respect.

“He ever try to convince you he almost caught the Loch Ness monster?” Bobby asks.

Mary knows she should sleep and shower and do any number of things that don’t involve swapping stories with two miserable hunters (well, Bill’s not so bad) but for some reason she takes another searing sip and leans against the counter. “I’ve only heard three versions of that one, what’d he tell you?”

 

**Santa Cruz**

 

“You should be asleep, young man.”

Dean scrambles to turn off his flashlight and only manages to drop it and his book on the floor. “But it’s Friday!” he protests as Grampa snatches them out of his reach and places them on a shelf across the room. The flashlight illuminates his _Raiders of the Lost Ark_ poster for a second before Grampa clicks it off. The only light left is the orangey glow of the street lamps filtering through the window.

“No ‘buts,’ kid, we got an early morning tomorrow,” Grampa says. “You wanna come and help me open up or do you wanna watch Sammy over at Kerry’s?”

“Open. Do I have to do my homework then?” Dean asks dejectedly.

“Yeah, but if you get it done early you’ll have more time with your mom when she’s home on Sunday.”

Dean responds by flopping back onto the bed with an angry sigh. “ _If_ she’s actually home.”

“Hey.” Grampa’s voice is short and dark. “She’s doing something important, you know that.”

“How come she hasn’t killed the the thing that killed dad yet then?” Dean bursts out, pounding a fist on the mattress.

In the shadows his grandfather falls back an inch. “Finding a demon is hard,” he says, careful and steady. He's never said the word demon before, but Dean had guessed that a long time ago. “So is killing them.”

“Cas could do it,” Dean shoots back. He looked up angels in Grandpa’s books once too, didn’t get caught that time. He knows they can smite demons, though he had to look up the word.

“Cas isn’t real,” Grampa snaps. The headlights of a passing car illuminate his grim face briefly and Dean feels his stomach drop. “Listen, you’re older now and it’s time to give this up. There’s no such thing as angels.”

“Yes there is!” Dean argues hotly. “Everything else that everyone else says isn’t real is real. And I’ve…”

“Enough, Dean. Good night.”

Dean’s mouth snaps closed and he looks away in defeat. He listens as the door clicks shut, leaving him in the quiet dark of his room. The one thing his Grandpa has never done is lie to him. But he has to be wrong. He has to. Cas has to be real. But no one else has ever seen him, sure, but Dean wouldn’t have dreamed of the same thing for six years, right? He’s a weird angel, and sometimes he doesn’t make sense but…he can’t be a lie.

 

**Saturday, December 2, 1989**

**Sioux Falls**

3:27 a.m.

 

Mary’s bed, or rather, the bed she has been assigned in Bobby Singer’s house, is at least more comfortable than a motel bed, so that’s probably not what’s keeping Mary up. The buzz of the whiskey is fading, and the exhaustion of the hunt has set in, but she’s still staring up at the vague shadow of a water stain on the ceiling, wide wake. Maybe it’s the smell. It’s not bad, necessarily. But the room smells of dust on top of lemon and bleach, but with hints of old perfume. No one’s been in this room for a long time, she guesses.

The sound of something clanking – maybe glass? – from downstairs is all the excuse Mary needs to pad down the dark hallway, past the room where Bill is snoring, and down creaking stairs. Bobby is in the kitchen, opening a new bottle of unidentifiable brown liquid.

“It’s a bit late for that, don’t you think?” Mary says, squinting at him.

“Not if I put it in coffee,” Bobby grumbles. “No one asked you anyway,” he adds, shuffling into the main room of the house. Maybe it was a living room once but now it’s just one huge office-library-storage room.

“Nice little library you’re building here,” Mary comments, following him. He settles himself at the out-of-place desk with a grunt and a shrug as Mary sits on a lumpy couch. “You should take a look at my family’s collection. Not that I’m allowed near it at the moment.” Mary grimaces at the reminder of their continuing estrangement. “They’ve been building it for a few centuries.”

“Am I supposed to be impressed?” Bobby says. Mary can see a glint of interest in his eyes beneath the shadow of his worn hat though.

“You studying something in particular?”

Bobby sighs and looks up. “Jim Murphy’s got…something in Peoria. Maybe,” he tells her, the very definition of grudgingly. “Parents dead, kid snatched, might be legit. Might be nothing.”

“Omens?” Mary recognizes the piles of paper on Bobby’s desk as weather maps, next to a stack of newspapers.

“Therein lies the mystery,” Bobby answers tiredly then squints at Mary. “I ain’t askin’ for help.”

“No, you’re just looking for a reason not to sleep,” Mary hits back. Bobby gives a small chuckle but doesn’t argue. “How long since you’ve been upstairs?”

“Not long enough.” Bobby shifts in his seat and pointedly ignores Mary’s gaze.

“I left the state, after John,” Mary says, staring at a pile of tomes on the floor with titles she can’t make out, though she’s sure one of them might be Greek.

“That was your husband?” Bobby’s voice is quieter than she’s heard it before. Mary nods. “You still got your boys though.”

“Doesn’t make me miss him less. Sometimes they’ll do or say something and…I’ll see him, in them. And it all comes back.”

“Karen loved the view out the kitchen window,” Bobby tells her softly. “Haven’t opened those curtains since _it_ happened. Maybe once it’s all cars I’ll think about it. But…” Bobby gives a small, defeated shrug before his squint of suspicious annoyance returns. “You gonna tell me it gets better with time or some bullshit?”

“I don’t think you’re man who tolerates being lied to,” Mary replies and for a half second Bobby looks impressed. They regard each other for a long moment, just the sound of an old clock ticking and Bill’s distant snores filling the four a.m. stillness.

“Coffee’s still warm,” Bobby tells her with a nod to the kitchen.

 

**Santa Cruz**

 

Dean’s dreams are troubled tonight; Castiel can sense that just by skirting along the edges, not quite stepping into the boy’s perception. Nightmares again. Another push and Castiel is within a wash of dark skies and fire and frightened cries. Dreams and memories have different consistencies. There is a deeper solidity to the echo to things that were once real compared to those which are only created by a dreamer. Real things remind Castiel much more of infinite honeycomb of private worlds of heaven. The memory of _that_ night doesn’t belong in heaven though.

Dean is running out of a familiar burning house, yelling for his mother, his father, Sam, his grandfather. And for Castiel.

“It’s alright, Dean,” Castiel says, fully shifting into the form Dean is most accustomed to seeing him in. “This isn’t real.”

Dean looks up at Castiel with plaintive green eyes. He’s seen Dean’s tears before, both in dreams and in the real world. Tonight they are different.

“Are _you_ real?” Dean asks, his eyes shining and hard.

Castiel kneels low, trying to better examine the human face in the shifting oranges of the dream. Dean is angry…at him?

“I am real, Dean,” he tells him slowly. “But without a vessel, without consent, I can’t…”

“Yeah. I know!” Dean snaps. “So get one!”

“Dean, I…” Six years of trying to talk to Dean and Castiel still dislikes the need for words. “I can’t.”

“ _Why_?”

Castiel has explained before. He knows that this anger isn’t about his reasons or the danger involved. But he doesn’t know why.

“You could kill the thing, the demon. The one that killed Dad and Grandma, and then Mom would be safe and…” Dean doesn’t finish, he just turns and runs into the flickering dark of the dream.

Castiel doesn’t follow. He lets himself fade from Dean’s mind, shedding the shadow of a body that does not make sense. He spreads himself into the night, pulling back from the room, the house, the street. The vibration from the rift resonates against his grace. In the first months of exile he had charted the minute increments by which his grace had begun to fade, attempted to calculate the eventual diminution to nothing. There had been too many variables though. Too many questions. The only sure thing was that his exile was not a mercy, but a slow death sentence to be carried out over lifetimes, unless one day heaven takes him back. Taking a vessel would speed that outcome exponentially. The only way to survive is to wait.

He floats in the in-between, rides a wave of magnetism farther away into the December dark. There is a different quality to the stillness of the night in the winter, different sounds. Even the light from the stars is different. He drifts until he touches the ocean, feels reflected moonlight shifting and stirring against his wings and nothing more.

 

**Sunday December 3, 1989**

**Santa Cruz**

 

Mary is a second away from pulling out her gun and shooting the seventh red light in a row since she got off the freeway. Maybe eighth. She’s not actually counting, just sort of seething in impatience and exhausted rage. She wonders if traffic curses are a real thing. She’s not actually late, of course. She said she’d be home by dinner and it’s barely past noon. But she wants to actually surprise the boys, make up for missing another weekend, and the goddamn traffic lights are making that impossible.

She guns the engine of her Jeep Cherokee the second she sees green. She had finally caved a few months ago and upgraded from the VW after Rufus asked her if they were stopping by a PTA meeting before taking down a werewolf. She had considered pulling the Impala out of mothballs rather than buying something new. You could definitely fit a body in that truck with room to spare but Sam and Dean would have thrown a fit if she’d driven away with their club house. Frankly, buying a new car seemed easier than dealing with that, and all the maintenance, and the _gas_ , the behemoth probably needed. Maybe Bobby could take a look at it if he ever was in the neighborhood.

Mary sighs as she finally turns left onto the last street before theirs. She smiles a bit, thinking about Bobby Singer and how he had grumbled that he would look into demon killing, on top of everything else. He’d been shocked that no one had ever even mentioned the possibility to him. That wasn’t surprising, most hunters thought it was impossible. Sure there were legends of ancient knives and other trinkets that could do it, and the relatively recent tales of Samuel Colt, but most people that that was a myth. Again she wished she could get into the Campbell library but that meant playing nice with the few living cousins she has left _and_ explaining herself to them so no thank you.

The relief Mary feels when she turns into the driveway and the boys burst out of the door is just short of ecstatic. Ringo is barking at their heels as usual, almost as happy to see her as they are.

“Get back in here, damn dog!” her father grunts as Sam and Dean explode with information.

“Dean helped me get my letter done-”

“Ringo’s been barking for a whole minute–”

“-he was a butt about it at first-”

“- I knew that meant you were getting close because he always knows -”

“-but he still helped. But he was real sad this morning-”

“Do you think he’s like a super dog?”

“Cause he missed you the most.”

“Shut up, Sammy!”

“Both of you let me breathe, okay?” Mary grunts, finally extracting herself from the hug while trying not to trip over the manic corgi.

“Is that all true?” Mary asks, giving Dean a concerned look.

“I…” Sadness settles over her older son, like it’s been there all day and Mary’s heart breaks again. “Do you promise you’re not going away again until after my birthday? Please?”

Guilt twists in Mary’s gut. She listened to Bill and Ellen have the same fight last night in hushed voices while she pretended to sleep on their couch. Little Joanna Beth, almost the same age Dean was when he lost John, had cried when her dad came home. Ellen had berated Bill about taking stupid risks and Mary hadn’t envied him the tirade. And yet she’d still nodded when he asked if she was open for a call. It could be worse, she tells herself. She could be Bobby Singer, surrounded by husks of broken cars, empty bottles and empty rooms. Or maybe Bobby has it easier. Maybe she should listen to Ellen and Dean.

“Dean, I know you hate it when I go, but I also know you wouldn’t want me to lie,” Mary tells him seriously. “I can’t make that promise. I’m sorry. Not when people might need help.” Both Dean and Sam examine the ground, nodding in understanding. She remembers this exact conversation with her own father, thirty years earlier.

“How about I make up for missing most of the weekend, okay?” The boys could probably ask for twin ponies right now and she’d ask what color. “I told you we could do anything you wanted, so let’s do something fun.”

“Right now?” Dean asks, glancing at Sam as if this has already been discussed.

“Dean, its _December_ ,” Dad groans and Mary knows exactly what’s coming next.

“But it’s sunny!” Dean argues as Sam grins up at Mary. “And we got a new kite!”

“I promise not to feed Ringo any sea weed this time,” Sam assures her.

 

∞

 

There are lots of beaches in Santa Cruz. Sunny Cove is less than half an hour from the house and, though it’s small, Dean likes it best. It’s protected by a few bluffs and the sand is fine and soft between his toes and the ocean is huge and inviting. There aren’t too many tourists in the summer, cause there’s no bathrooms or shops or anything. There’s no one but them today of course. A wave rushes up around Dean’s feet as Sam and Ringo race away from it. The water is cold and edged with foam. In a few minutes Dean’s feet are going to be numb if he doesn’t get moving.

“Dean don’t get too wet!” his mother calls from where she and Grandpa are sitting on a huge piece of driftwood and fiddling with the kite. They’re all still in their regular clothes, because it really is too cold for swimming. Grandpa is wearing his silly fisherman’s hat to keep his scalp from burning and Dean can tell by the way Mom is smiling that she’s making fun of him for it.

Dean glances back out to sea. The view is great here. Far in the distance he can make out a container ship, probably heading towards San Francisco bay and Oakland. Sometimes in the spring they can see whales off in the distance. Much more often there are sea lions. Closer in he can make out the brown-black shapes of rocks beneath the water. At low tide he and Sam like to investigate the tide pools; see starfish clinging to the sides and poke at the anemones. That’s probably not happening today.

“Dean, what did I say!?”

Dean turns around again at the sound of his mother’s voice as the waves retreat, sucking the sand away from around his ankles and yet somehow sinking him deeper. His pants are soaked to the knee… _oh_.

“Sorry!” Dean yells sheepishly over the soft roar of the water.

“Dean, you’re gonna get the car all wet on the way home!” Sam accuses as he runs past, Ringo bounding after him like some sort of cross between a rabbit and a sausage.

“Guess we’ll just have to stay lo–“

“Dean!”

Sam’s cry is the last thing he hears before the wave hits him and submerges him completely. It’s the cold as much as the dull slam of water that knocks the breath out of him. The water dampens every sound except the rush of the wave itself and it takes Dean a moment to even understand what’s happening. Maybe it’s just a few seconds, but time seems to stretch out in the thunderous quiet under the waves. He opens his mouth, stupidly, to cry out before he understands. Salt water fills his lungs and terror finally takes over.

It can’t be that deep, he tells himself; _he wasn’t even close to the deep_! He scrambles for the bottom and thrashes his arms to get to the surface at the same time. But he can’t find the bottom and the current is pulling him away and _down_. He can’t find the bottom and his mouth is full of salt water and the sound of the ocean is ringing in his ears and the world is compressed to panic and terror. Dean swims with all his strength toward the distant glimmer of the sun. His muscles scream at the cold and the weight of the water. Amazingly, miraculously, he breeches the surface, gasping for breath, his ears ringing. He’s much much farther away than he thought but he can see his mother’s blonde hair bobbing out of the water.

“Mom!” he yells just as the current pulls him away from her. “Mo–” the rest of the word is swallowed up by the water as the undertow sucks him back down, violent and relentless. His voice bubbles uselessly in the freezing water then pain blots out every sense as his body slams into a jagged, hidden rock.

He can’t get back to the surface. His mouth is full of water, he can feel it in his lungs. He’s too cold and too scared. He can’t breathe or hear anything but the ruthless ringing in his ears. And all he can see is immeasurable brightness. Familiar brightness.

_Dean, please I want to help you. Please let me in._

The brightness is fading already, murky dark pushing back the insistent scream of Cas’s voice in Dean’s ears and skull. He can’t make out the sun. He’s not even sure he can open his mouth to do what Cas wants. The pain from the rock and the cold of the water make it impossible to move. He can’t breathe. The water presses around him. He can’t fight.

_Dean!_

Dean closes his eyes. Cas’s voice is strange out here.

The light is gone entirely. But somewhere he can hear his mother screaming just as loud as Cas.

 _Yes,_ he thinks with his entire soul, his mouth barely moving in the deep. _Yes._

The light overtakes him.

 

It’s like creation, Castiel thinks. A shift from utter silence to a symphony and thunder and pure _noise._ He is sure now that if he ever took a vessel the memory is lost, because he would remember _this_. Everything is sensation and electricity and feeling and pressure. For a second Castiel drifts, just trying to make sense of it all.

His vessel is cold. Molecules are slowing down and cells are starving for oxygen. There is pain too. Bones within the vessel are fractured. Its heart is slowing. No. Not it. Dean. Dean is dying.

Castiel opens his eyes – Dean’s eyes. His first view of the world through mortal vision is the murky green dark of the Pacific ocean. His wings are still with him, tucked outside of perception, and he flexes them enough to push this body to safety.

He slams into the beach, blinded momentarily by the new brightness of the afternoon sun. Castiel pushes up, fingers digging into the sand, still trying to get control of the mechanics of this form. He wills the water from Dean’s lungs and gasps a huge breath, then another.

So this is what it feels like to breathe.

He stares at Dean’s hands, moving as he wills them. They are pale and cold, covered in wet sand that Castiel tests between his fingers. The texture is crystalline and rough. He breathes again for Dean, feeling oxygen return to his blood.

He can taste the salt of the ocean on his lips.

“Dean! Mom! He’s over there!” That’s Sam’s voice. In the distance there is splashing and barking and yelling. He does not have much time.

He concentrates on Dean’s ribs, knitting them back together then stops in shock as his grace touches something unexpected. He is not the first angel here. How…

“Dean!” Castiel turns slowly to see Mary Winchester, soaked and frantic, running towards the body she see as her son. He takes one more breath, just to feel it. He tastes the air and the salt and digs his fingers into the sand one more time before letting go. Dean’s body collapses as Castiel rushes out, back into the ether in a flash of light he hopes those watching will forget.

Castiel watches, invisible once again as Mary reaches her son, pulling his body into her arms as he blinks back to consciousness. He should pay close attention now, because Ringo is barking at him and Samuel is holding Sam back. Mary is begging Dean to speak. He should not lose himself in remembering what water felt like against skin or the scent of brine and wind. He should listen as Dean whispers.

“Cas…”

∞

 

“We don’t need the hospital, Mary.” It’s the third time her father has said it and she’s still choosing to ignore it, checking over Dean again as he sits with his legs hanging over the back bumper of the Jeep, trying to squirm out of the heavy wool blanket Mary has wrapped him in even though he’s still concerningly pale.

“He’s right, I’m fine!” Dean protests, but there’s something nervous and thin in his voice that worries Mary even more.

“You were unconscious! You were under water for…” Mary’s voice breaks. She doesn’t want to think about it but she can’t stop. The way the wave had hit just as she’d looked up. The eternity that Dean was under the water. The relief at the sight of him miraculously on the sand and yet the…wrongness in how he had looked at her when she ran to him. “You could have a concussion! You could have hit something, broken-”

“I told you,” Dean argues. “I hit a rock and it hurt but I’m _fine_.”

“You might be in shock then,” Mary blurts out and Dean goes a bit paler.

“Mary!” She finally looks at her father, who is still holding Sam close to his hip, Ringo hiding between their legs. “The boy’s had a frightening afternoon, let’s not scare him more.”

She catches Dean giving his grandfather a thankful look and relents.

“How’d you get up on the beach though?” Sam asks, his voice tiny and shaken. “You weren’t even close to that side when you went under.”

Dean doesn’t answer, just looks down at his bare feet as the silence stretches out.  Mary hadn’t asked, or even wanted to think of it. That or the flash of light before Dean had…

“All that matters is that you’re okay,” Mary tells Dean and herself, ignoring every hunter’s instinct she’s built up in her life. “Let’s just…get home, okay.”

They don’t talk at all on the drive back. Once they get home Mary hustles Dean into a hot bath then packs him directly off to bed before she finally retreats to the office. There’s still lore books with helpful ghoul fighting tips open on the desk.

“What are you doing in here?” her father asks from behind her.

“You know as well as I do that something happened out there that wasn’t normal,” Mary says tensely. “Dean was awake, for a second when I first saw him, he was awake but it wasn’t…And then there was this flash and…”

“Mary, there’s nothing that goes around _saving_ folk from drowning,” Dad argues, obviously worried for her sanity. “Unless you want to believe in Dean’s angel or whatever it is.”

Mary thinks back to a dream in the wendigo’s cave. A drawing of a man with sad eyes in a trench coat. A stranger telling her _something is looking after all of you._ But if anything were really watching out for them, then why did it let her husband die? Why are good people like Karen Singer dead if…

“I probably was just seeing things,” she says quietly and closes a book.

The office is a mess nowadays. There’s a bulging folder full of dead-end leads and a few scraps of second-hand stories of a demon with yellow eyes. Most every hunter she talks to about demons has seen red and black eyes, but even those are rare. The few possessions Mary’s heard about have been resolved too quickly for Mary to make it to ask questions. In fact she hasn’t seen a single demon since she they moved to California. Longer than that really, since the only person that saw the demon that night back in Lawrence was Dean. Dean who is still with her but for the grace of God. She realizes that she’s started shaking.

“I almost lost him, Dad,” Mary whispers, tears clouding her eyes. “I was trying to make it up for missing the weekend and I almost lost my kid to a goddamn _wave_ …”

“Hey, hey, he’s fine.” Her father wraps her in a hug. “We got him. Nothing is gonna get to either of them.”

“That _thing_ is still out there.” Mary shifts so she can see the map and the wall of clippings and red string. “It’s been six years and we’re not any closer to finding it. It’s like it’s playing with us. There’s too much information and not enough ways to find it and…”

“We’ll get it, I know we will,” her dad tells her, stroking her hair just like he used to when she was young.  “Nothing in hell or even fucking heaven is gonna hurt those boys while I breathe, same for you. Okay?” Mary swallows down her tears and nods.  “Now get yourself together. You’ve got work to do.”

Mary heaves a shaky breath and wipes her cheeks, licking a tear off her lip. It’s a different saltiness for the ocean, she thinks to herself. 

 

∞

 

Dean feels numb. Not cold numb, just…tired and confused numb. Like he’s still underwater. He doesn’t quite feel the blankets wrapped around him, and when he closes his eyes and tries to sleep he can still feel the rocking of the ocean.

“Dean?” He’s actually relieved to hear Sam’s hesitant voice from his door. Dean turns as Sam comes in and hoists himself up on the bed without invitation. “I can’t sleep.”

“Me neither,” Dean confesses, sitting up and pulling his little brother to his side. Usually when they sit this close it’s in the back of the Impala, even though they don’t need to be. It’s the place they share secrets and fears, and Dean wishes they were there now.

“I was really scared today,” Sam says. “I thought you weren’t gonna come back up, like I sometimes worry about Mommy not coming home and-”

“Hey, no, it’s fine,” Dean stops him, squeezing him tighter. “I’m okay and Mom is always okay. She’s really brave and strong. Like Wonder Woman. And I’m not hurt.”

“But _how_?” Sam asks and Dean feels cold again. Empty. “Dean, you were so far out and then you were…”

“It was Cas.”

The memory is at the same time hazy and crystal clear. He had known before what Cas was, but he hadn’t _understood_ , not at all. Cas is immense and terrifying and blindingly bright and for a sliver of time Dean had _been_ him and he didn’t understand anything. “He…” Dean doesn’t know how to put it into words Sammy will understand when he doesn’t get it either, really. “He saved me. He got me out of the water. I think he fixed me too.”

“But I thought Cas was imaginary?” Sammy prods. Dean can hear Grandpa’s voice behind Sam’s. He can’t blame him, really.

“He’s not.” That’s one thing Dean is sure of now. Everything else though…

“You should tell Mom and Grandpa then,” Sam says and Dean shakes his head immediately.

“They wouldn’t understand and they…” Dean is scared to even say it. “What if they want to hunt him?”

“But Cas isn’t bad, right?”

“No he’s, good. Real good. He watches out for us but…” Dean’s stomach rolls in unease at the thought. “When Cas…did whatever it was he did, I felt safe. He would never hurt us.”

“But he could?”

Dean smiles a bit. Sam’s a smart kid to get the difference. “Yeah, I think he could,” Dean reluctantly agrees. Cas was like the ocean: huge and beautiful and capable of destroying something as small and fragile as them. “So you gotta keep this secret, Sammy, okay?”

“Okay,” Sam replies without hesitation. Dean smiles, some of the numbness fading as Sam rests his head on his shoulder. From now on, Dean’s going to keep this secret too.

 

 

The dream tonight is of the sea, not fire. Dean is standing on the beach, looking out at the waves in fear when Castiel finds him.

“You shouldn’t be frightened,” Castiel tells him.

Dean looks at him in confusion. “Why do you look like me?”

Castiel regards himself: a soggy, pale mirror of Dean.

“I retain the image of a vessel even if–”

“I don’t like it, it’s weird. Change back.’

Castiel is not sure how to comply, as his appearance has never been an issue before. He concentrates, feeling back for the echo as it exists in him and touching something rippling and resonant deep in his grace.

“Better,” Dean says and Castiel can see himself once again with dark hair and blue eyes and a tan coat, as Dean has always known him.

“Are you alright?”

“Was…whoever it is you look like a vessel or whatever too?” Dean demands, taking a step back when Castiel tries to get closer.

“I don’t know,” Castiel answers, distracted by Dean’s obvious unease. “Dean, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Cas,” Dean says. “But that was really scary. _You’re_ kind of scary.”

“I’m sorry.” His regret is instant and piercing. “It was the only way I could help.”

“And thank you, really…”

Castiel watches Dean and the play of apprehension and confusion on his freckled face. He can still feel the echo of Dean’s fear and trust and awe. It’s easier to remember than any other mortal sensation or feeling, raw and immediate. There’s something else within Castiel too, a feeling that didn’t come from Dean. Perhaps none of it did or it only gave name to what Castiel already felt.

“Don’t feel bad, okay,” Dean tells him for some reason, his face…concerned? “You just scared me a little is all.”

“Angels don’t ‘feel bad.’ I shouldn’t…”

He shouldn’t feel at all. And yet he does and he knows he has. It is not new.

Castiel looks down at his hands, or the image of someone else’s hands that suffice as his in this world. They are pristine and too perfect to be mistaken for anything truly human. If he reaches down and touches the sand in the dream he will feel nothing. But he wants to. He _wants_. He wants and he wants and he wants. And he regrets.

“Cas are you okay?” Dean asks, panic in his voice.

“I shouldn’t be here.”

Before he can change his mind, Castiel retreats. Back into the night swifter than he has moved in years, flying far, far away from Dean and the sea and the shadows of regret and into distant, dark fields. He floats above sparse prairie, his thoughts confused and reeling. The middle of the American continent is flat and vast and quiet. He stills himself, trying to find calm, trying to concentrate and forget.

He should stay away. He should hide himself in the reaches of space or far beneath the sea. He should let time become a blur again until his atonement is done or he fades into nothing. He should do many things, wiser things than returning to the location of his first defiance. His regret gives way to resignation. Taking the wise course of action would be uncharacteristic of him.

This is not the first time he has returned to Lawrence, Kansas. Retreating here is almost automatic for him in moments of confusion and doubt. This was where it began. Where the mysteries and mistakes all started. Was this where that unfamiliar grace first touched Dean? Perhaps its presence is why Dean and Sam and Mary are warded from Castiel’s senses unless he is actually near.

Castiel flickers through the city, searching for other echoes of angels. There is nothing though, aside from now familiar dissonance that emanates from the remains of the former Winchester home. There are shadows lurking there too, echoes of evil so deep and fetid it hangs over the ruin like fog, but no grace.

Still, Castiel lingers until dawn, then sunset, then another, watching. Waiting for revelation.

Dean’s prayer surprises him. Very few people over the course of human history have prayed to Castiel directly. The prayers he hears are usually more general, and also generally pointless. Castiel has been able to feel Dean’s call for years, in moments of sadness or fear or need. But a direct prayer is new and so different from anything Castiel has heard before.

_Cas? I…I’m sorry, okay? I’m not mad. Please don’t be gone._

There’s no fear in the entreaty. Despite his few remaining instincts of self-preservation telling him the contrary, Castiel listens, then follows the call.

_We put up the tree tonight. I left the lights on so you could see, ’cause you said you liked them last year._

The tree is indeed alight in the corner of the Winchester living rooms, a half dozen colors combining into a red-gold glow. Ornaments sparkle and catch the lights, reflecting and dancing and beautiful.

_I’m sorry I was scared, but don’t be gone, okay?_

Dean’s head is not bent, his palms are not pressed together. He is simply curled on his bed with his eyes screwed shut.

_Please._

Castiel cannot speak to Dean in his true voice, not really. It is yet another thing Castiel regrets. Another thing he wants as deeply as to taste salt and feel cold and touch sand again. He should not answer. He should not even be here. He knows already he will try harder now to keep himself from Dean’s dreams, to separate himself from the boy’s life without risking his protection. But he can still reward his faith. He can still wrap this small, remarkable creature in his wings. He can step briefly out of the ether. He can make the lights flicker with the barest movement of his grace closer to Dean. It is enough to make the boy smile.

“Thanks, Cas.”

It is enough. For now it is enough.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whole fic is filled with references to the series canon, including this chapter...try and spot the easter eggs.


	6. It Won't Be Long

**Thursday, October 21, 1993**

**Carson City, Nevada**

 

Mary smiles when she sees Bobby’s Chevelle in front of the Harvelle house. The old thing’s a lot like Bobby, rough and worn and never getting a fresh coat of paint. She likes it. She hoists her heavy duffle bag out of the back of the Jeep, cursing the paranoia that keeps her from removing at least some of the weapons. The front door to the house is open to let in the cool evening air, just the screen standing between someone barging straight in. Of course, Mary knows there are salt lines and weapons and devil’s traps just out of sight in the Harvelle residence, just like in her home, but in the twilight it looks like any other farm house where no one even worries about locking their doors.

Jo is the first one to see Mary from where she’s flopped over the back of the couch. The little girl rushes down the hall, blonde pigtails flapping, as Ellen yells after her.

“Hey, Miss Mary!” Jo yells, catching Mary in a hug around her waist so tight it almost knocks the wind out of the hunter. “I ain’t seen you since summer!”

“Hello to you too, Jo,” Mary laughs.

“Joanna Beth I told you not to use that that word,” Ellen chastises, joining them in the hall as Mary pries Jo off her and ruffles her hair.

“But Daddy says it,” Jo pouts.

“Your daddy doesn’t have to deal with parent teacher conferences,” Ellen mutters and pulls Mary into a tight hug. “Good to see you, hon. You hungry?”

“I drove past three diners cause I knew I was coming here,” Mary grins.

“Always said you were smart,” Ellen smiles. “Jo, baby, take Miss Mary’s bag to the guest room.”

“Oh!” Mary doesn’t object in time and Jo nearly falls over trying to lift the bulging duffle. “Don’t worry, I’ll get it later its…heavy.” Jo drops the bag with a clank of metal and Ellen raises an eyebrow.

“You packing for a fight?”

“This woman packs for _war_ ,” Bill laughs, emerging from the kitchen with two beers in hand. Bobby lingers behind his shoulder and gives Mary a nod.

“I just like to be prepared,” Mary says, taking one of the beers. It’s cold and dewy with condensation and after seven hours on the road the taste is pure heaven.

“So I take it New Mexico has one less Rugaru?” Bill asks after taking a swig. “You were working with Travis, right? I tell you that ass-”

Ellen cuts Bill off with a sound thwack on the arm. “No shop talk in front of the munchkin.”

“What the hell are we supposed to talk about then? Carebears and rainbows?” Bobby grumbles.

“How about what a saint I am for feeding your surly ass,” Ellen snaps, and Bobby visibly straightens up.

Mary chuckles. “She’s got a point.” Bobby sends her a half-hearted glare that’s about as good as a grin, coming from him, and takes a long sip of beer.

“Carebears are stupid anyway,” Jo adds in mild disgust.

“Jo, help me set the table,” Ellen orders and Jo springs to attention, pushing through the adults back into the kitchen. “You three behave.”

“We waiting on anyone else?” Mary asks, glancing back at the door.

“No,” Bobby says a bit too forcefully then drains his beer.

“Trouble in paradise for you and Rufus?” She catches Bill’s eye and the darker-haired man gives her a warning shake of the head. New topic then. “So am I gonna have to wait ’till after Jo’s bedtime to find out why you asked me to drive three hours out of my way? Is this about the...thing in Idaho?”

Mary can barely form the actual words to say it. She’d been sharing leads with other hunters for years, but only recently had she started to find real patterns to the omens and possible demon deals followed by house fires ten years after. She couldn’t have done it without Bill or Bobby, who had started spending time searching databases and newspaper records using _computers_. She still has no idea how to use the internet, though Dean had tried to explain it to her and Dad a dozen times, but Bobby and Bill were good with it.

There’s a twinkle in Bill’s eyes and even Bobby looks like he’s on the edge of smiling. “Mary, I think we found it,” Bill tells her, no longer able to suppress his grin. “Well, Bobby did; with everything you’ve put together.”

“So I’m right about Idaho?” Mary asks, her voice shaking.

“There’s a kid there, gonna be six months old in near a week,” Bobby tells her. “You were right, the mom had a sister who miraculously survived a car wreck in ’83. Matches up with the storm patterns and reports of cattle deaths.”

“And the electrical storms have already started again,” Bill adds.

“Oh my god,” Mary breathes, trying to steel herself. “Okay, that means I have to…Oh my god.”

“Hey, you ain’t gonna be doing this alone,” Bobby counters.

“Bobby, I can’t ask any of you,” Mary says, shaking her head.

“You don’t have to.” It’s Ellen who says it, surprising all of them. Her face is a mix of resignation and toughness that Mary can’t help but smile at. “The world’s gonna be a better place with one less demon in it.” Mary can’t even form words to express her gratitude or refuse the help. “But we ain’t gonna plan how to kill the sonuvabitch until we’ve eaten dinner like civilized folk.”

“Hey, is that any way for a lady to talk?” Bill teases, looking at Ellen like she hung the stars. Mary and Bobby share a knowing glance and a smile.

“Get your ass to the table, Harvelle,” Ellen smirks.

 

**Monday, October 25, 1993**

**Santa Cruz, California**

 

“Dude, that’s not how you hold a gun.” The words are out of Dean’s mouth before he realizes what a psychopath it makes him sound like. It’s too late and the pair of drama students rehearsing in the lobby of the auditorium are looking at him like he just started spouting Latin. (Another thing he actually can do but probably shouldn’t.) But holding the guns sideways just looks…dumb.

“Excuse me?” the girl, who is wearing the top half of a costume, asks, quirking an eyebrow. “This is how they do it in the movies.”

Dean swallows. Screw it. “Then they’re idiots who aren’t gonna hit anything,” he says, striding towards her and firmly twisting the prop gun (reflexively careful to not get in front of it) and her hand into the correct position. “Now if you’re gonna shoot with one hand, which is harder, you gotta line it up with your sightline, okay,” Dean tells the girl, who is now staring at him with more awe than annoyance as he adjusts her stance.

“What are you, some sort of gun expert?” the other student, a boy with curly hair and a patchy attempt at a beard, demands.

“Something like that,” Dean mutters.

“Well his name is Winchester.”

Dean turns to the source of the voice and smiles automatically when he sees dark hair and chocolate brown eyes that twinkle with confidence in a handsome face. He also maybe blushes, just a bit. But Matt’s a junior and just the fact he even _talks_ to Dean still kinda makes Dean giddy. Or it would if giddy were a feeling he felt. Which it is not.

“Winchester? Like that tourist trap up in San Jose?” guy theater kid asks, unimpressed, and Dean bristles a bit. Since starting high school he’s been asked that like seven times. It’s getting old.

“I, uh, got a bit lost,” Dean tells Matt, ignoring the other students. It’s sort of true. Dean has never actually been in his high school’s auditorium before.

“Well, they usually keep the set on the stage so, you could give that a try,” Matt teases with a crooked smile. Theater girl behind Dean scoffs and Dean doesn’t know if he’s supposed to be embarrassed or happy. “Come on, I’ll show you where the work is happening."

Things are much more lively in the theater proper, where a few students are already squabbling about hammers and nail guns while a harried looking teacher looks on. Dean recognizes a few of the people on the stage from classes and maybe one or two from middle school.

“Is everyone else in the play?” Dean asks nervously.

“Uh, most of them. Or they’re crew,” Matt says. “Brian isn’t, though, he just hangs around cause he’s friends with Nell – she’s the stage manager. Same for Nichole. I actually think she graduated last year but she’s still always around.”

“I’ll, uh, try not to get in the way,” Dean mutters, feeling exceedingly out of place as Matt leads him up an unpainted plywood ramp to the stage. It’s way too wobbly for Dean’s comfort. “Um, are you guys gonna brace that?”

Matt turns to him and grins. His teeth are perfect, which is a weird thing to think, Dean knows, but they are. His hair’s nice too – dark and floppy. In general it’s easy to see why he’s the lead in the play. “Hey, you’re already helping. I’m a genius for inviting you.”

“I doesn’t take a genius to see that ramp needs work.” Dean sets down his bag on the messy stage. The sets are half done and all look like they’re being held together by duct tape, gum and happy thoughts. He sees why Matt asked if he would be willing to help.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Winchester. I’m not wasting you on grunt work though, we need your artistic talent,” Matt tells Dean and _that_ definitely makes Dean blush.

The upperclassmen has a way of doing that, ever since he introduced himself to Dean in art class and complimented Dean’s sketchbook. Dean had tried to cover up the vague drawing of blue eyes he still hadn’t got quite right but then Matt had actually started _talking_ to him. Dean couldn’t believe it. Matt was older and wore torn tee shirts and an _earring_ and still managed to be handsome and cool and why would he ever talk to Dean? But he had and he’d kept talking. They’d just started the painting unit a week ago which had led to a discussion of the best way to paint faux stone and then the suggestion that Dean come over to help with the play sets. And then there were jokes about getting roped into hard labor with wood and they had laughed so hard the teacher had threatened to separate them.

 “So, uh, what should I do?” Dean asks.

“We need the most help on the walls of the mansion,” Matt says with a smile. He leads Dean over to a bare flat flanked by several paint cans and supplies that look like they’ve seen better days. “Let’s go, Michelangelo,” Matt prompts and Dean hides his smile by setting to work.

Half an hour later they’re both speckled in grey and black but the set is coming along.

“So… _are_ you related to the mystery house lady?” Matt asks, still concentrating on the flat.

“Dude, no. We’re not–” Dean stops. He’s never really thought much about the answer beyond no. “Actually, I’m not sure. Don’t know much about my dad’s side of the family. Not like I can ask.”

“Parents divorced?” The sympathy in Matt’s voice is a nice gesture, but it makes Dean squirm.

“Uh, no, he…” Dean swallows. It really shouldn’t be that hard to talk about after ten years.

“Oh, crap I’m sorry,” Matt says, stopping mid-movement and turning to catch Dean’s eyes. “I didn’t mean to be a jerk.”

“You didn’t know, it’s cool,” Dean says automatically, then bites his lip because it’s really obviously not and that was a dumb thing to say. “It was ten years ago; almost exactly, actually.”

“Do you remember him?” Matt's voice is gentle and kind.

“Kind of,” Dean answers softly. “I remember the way he laughed and smiled; how deep his voice was. I remember when he’d try to cook. I remember him dancing with my mom in the kitchen. But a lot of it is stories from my mom and…” Dean shakes himself out of the nostalgia. “I still miss him.”

“My dad ditched my mom for his secretary,” Matt confesses, a little less bravado in his voice. “What a cliché, right?” Dean gives a small laugh, appreciating the solidarity or whatever Matt’s offering in his deep drown eyes. “It’s just me, Mom and baby sis now. You’ve got a brother, right?”

“Yeah, he’s a pain in the ass, but he’s also pretty cool. My grandpa lives with us too.”

“He the one that taught you all the gun stuff?”

“Uh, yeah, mostly. My mom too, sort of. She’s better with blades though.”

Matt’s eyes go wide. Great. _Great_. Now Matt for sure thinks he’s a freak. “That’s badass,” Matt breathes, surprising Dean. “Very _Terminator 2_.”

“Ha. My mom could kick Sarah Connor’s ass.”

“Whoa,” Matt says with an impressed grin that has Dean fidgeting so that he smears paint on his jeans. “I was just asking about the mystery house ’cause I heard some of the art department crew were gonna go there for the Halloween flashlight tour.”

“Yeah, I, uh, heard that,” Dean mutters. “I don’t think I’m going. It’s not really haunted any way.” Matt raises a dark eyebrow and Dean kicks himself internally and starts painting again with maybe a bit too much gusto. “I mean, I’ve heard.”

“Oh cool,” Matt says, his voice getting a bit softer. “I was hoping you weren’t going.” Dean looks up from his work in confusion. “I mean, uh…I was hoping we could…hang out?”

“Huh?” Dean blinks, his heart suddenly racing. “Why? I’m a freshman.”

Matt smiles shy and shrugs. “Yeah, but you’re cool and you draw real good.” Dean is definitely blushing now. “And you’re really cute.”

“What?” Dean feels like the floor just went out from under him, taking all the blood in his body with it.

“Shit, I…I meant, like…uhhh…”

“No it’s okay,” Dean says sharply, before Matt can apologize. Matt’s gaze flicks down and Dean realizes that he’s grabbed Matt’s wrist. “It’s…um…” He doesn’t even have the words for it, and even that makes his heart leap. “It’s cool. Uh, you too? I mean, I think you’re, uh-”

“I was thinking of going to the beach,” Matt says quietly, more open and less brash than Dean’s ever seen him. “I mean, I was thinking we could.”

Dean swallows, wondering when his mouth got so dry. “As long as we stay out of the water, I…kinda almost drowned down at Sunny Cove when I was ten.” Dean hasn’t ever told anyone that, he realizes. “I’m not scared,” he adds defensively. He doesn’t really like trying to explain that he’s not frightened of the water, or drowning or anything really. It’s just that the ocean reminds him of other things too vast and dangerous and untamable.

“It’s okay we can just…hang out on the sand somewhere, or maybe the boardwalk, it’s fun on Halloween.”

“I have to ask my mom,” Dean blurts out. “Man, that sounds lame.”

“No, it’s okay,” Matt smiles, removing his wrist from Dean’s grip and, to Dean’s shock ad amazement, taking his hand and squeezing. “From what I can tell, I don’t want to get on your mom’s bad side.”

Dean chuckles, staring down at their hands and definitely feeling a bit giddy. “You have no idea.”

 

**∞**

 

“I’m telling you, darlin’ I got a bad feeling about this.”

“Rufus, you call me darlin’ one more time and I will kick your ass into the new millennium,” Mary growls into the phone receiver. Ringo looks up at her worriedly from where he lies sprawled on the kitchen tile, doing his best impression of a very small bear rug.

“Listen, just let me call my contact in Wyoming for you. Hell, I’m in your area already. Got a haunt in San Fran. My guys knows a guy who says he knows someone out in Colorado that was talking about some magic gun and…”

“Damnit, Rufus. This is the first shot at this thing we’ve ever had, I don’t have time to wait on a tip from someone who might be dead about a gun that might not even exist!” Mary tenses at the sound of keys in the front door.

“And you think some mothafuckin’ _spell_ from the Campbell archives is a better shot?” Rufus snaps back. “I thought you didn’t even trust the bastards.”

“This thing has been picking them off for ten years. I may not like them but they have as much a right as me to take it down,” Mary says quickly, lowering her voice.

“Mom?” Dean calls from the front hall.

“In here!” Mary yells back. “On the phone!”

“Listen, you ain’t faced a demon in, what, twenty years? Yeah, I pay attention,” Rufus says.

“That’s why I’m asking for you to help,” Mary hisses before pressing the receiver to her shoulder as Dean enters the kitchen. “Your Grandpa and Sam went to pick up Chinese, Kerry is coming over to join us.”

“…and I will eat my own ass before I get within three states of Bobby Singer again.” Rufus finishes as Mary returns the phone to her ear.

“Jesus, Rufus, what’d he do this time?”

“Oh, of course his guilty ass didn’t tell you,” Rufus scoffs.

“Did they get sweet and sour pork?” Dean asks, opening the fridge.

“Of course," Mary says.

“Oh he did?” Rufus says in her ear.

“What? No! Rufus, all I know is you two are acting like sullen teenagers,” Mary replies. “Glass, Dean!”

Dean freezes and lowers the jug of orange juice. “That’s offensive,” her son says with an eye roll.

“It don’t matter. It’s over and I can tell I ain’t gonna get through to you,” Rufus says. Mary sighs and fights the urge to bang her head against the wall. “Good luck getting your ass kicked.”

“Rufus! What the–” The line clicks dead and Mary slams the phone down.

“Everything okay?” Dean asks, eying her suspiciously as he takes a long drink of juice then a bite of apple he’s somehow procured. 

“Oh Rufus is…being Rufus. And I just told you dinner is on the way.”

“I’m hungry now?” Dean counters through a full mouth.

“Why were you late?” Mary demands. Surprisingly, Dean avoids her eyes in a manner she would consider shy if she didn’t know her son. “Dean?”

“I was helping out a friend with sets for the school play,” Dean says quickly though there’s a slight, telling hesitation on the word ‘friend.’

“What’s her name?” Mary asks with a sly smile. Dean surprises her again by going a little pale and taking another bite of apple. “It’s not that Beth girl, is it? I thought you and her…”

“Beth would rather break my legs than go out with me, Mom,” Dean says, turning away.

“But someone does want to go out with you?” Mary teases with a grin. “Like, I said, what’s her –”

“Grub’s here!”

Dean looks incredibly relieved at the sound of Sam’s voice and the door slamming open.  “Please tell me you didn’t get any of the tofu crap,” Dean calls back, ducking away.

“It’s better for Grandpa’s heart, Dean!” Sam protests, immediately rising to the bait.

Mary shakes her head as the regular bickering begins, with her father chiming in that he doesn’t need a ten year-old or anyone telling him how to eat, thank you very much. She turns and tries not to feel too hopeful as she gathers their mismatched dishes from the cabinets.

“You know, your grandmother could take down a fourteen ounce porterhouse without blinking,” Dad is telling an amazed-looking Sam and a skeptical Dean as she joins them at the table.

“Must be where Dean gets his appetite,” Mary smiles, as Sam giggles.

“I’m a growing boy!” Dean crows.

“Yeah, sideways,” Sam says then dissolves into a fit of laughter as Dean swats at him without conviction. The sound of the doorbell stops Mary from intervening.

“You forgot drinks,” Kerry says without ceremony, handing Mary a bottle of wine when the door opens. “Where should I put this other stuff?”

“Some psychic,” Mary smirks, because Kerry probably does know the answer. They move back towards dinner, but Mary’s attention is on the herbs and small bag of supplies in Kerry’s hands. “I’ll, uh, take those to the office,” Mary mutters, reaching for them.

“I know you don’t really do much spell-work, Mary, and now you’re asking for yarrow and hensbane…” Kerry narrows her hazel eyes in suspicion. “What’s this for?”

“You’re doing spells now?” Dad inquires. Age has certainly not dulled his hearing, that’s for sure.

“Mom, you look nervous, is this what you were yelling at Rufus about?” Dean asks. Sam doesn’t say anything, just stares at her with a worried expression.

“Well, I was going to wait until we were all sitting down but…yeah, there’s a hunt. A big one,” Mary says, clutching the spell ingredients a bit too tight. It’s not everything of course but it’s the beginning; The beginning of the end. The thought makes her heart leap. “The one we’ve been waiting for.”

“You found it?” Dean asks softly.

“We think we know where it’s going to be, yes. And Gary finally got useful and found a spell that’s supposed to kill a demon,” Mary explains, holding her son’s gaze.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” her father says with a smile that’s equal parts amazement and hope.

“I want to go with you,” Dean says breathlessly, jumping up from his seat.

Mary’s eyes go wide. “Dean, no.”

“Why not? I’m a good shot and I’ve been working on hand-to-hand and I know how to do an exorcism and –”

“And you are _fourteen_ ,” Mary cuts him off, her voice deadly. Dean shrinks. “I need you here with Grampa and the other kids.”

“Other kids?” Sam echoes.

“Excuse me?” her father says at the same time. “You’re benching _me_? After what that thing…”

“I’m not going into this alone,” Mary says, as the tension rises in the room. “Bobby, Bill and Ellen are gonna be with me and…Gary, Denise and Chris are coming too.” The Campbell names earn a look from Dean.

“You barely know those three!” Dad argues. “And every one of those fools has a kid, except Singer!”

“Which is why they’re gonna bring them here,” Mary pushes back.

“Are you _nuts_?”

“It’s the safest place, especially if they have you with them.” Mary stares down her father. She’s planned for this argument all day. “Dad, I need everyone I can get on this, but we also need to know the kids are safe.”

Her father stares back, squinting so that the wrinkles around his eyes deepen as he thinks. “Tell me about the spell after dinner,” he grumbles at last and Mary finally lets out the breath she was holding.

“Mom, what–” Dean starts to argue again and is met with identical silencing looks from his elders.

“Dean, you’ve seen _one_ ghost,” Mary tells him, still furious at her father for dragging Dean to the job in Santa Rosa last summer. “You’re not a hunter.” Under the table Ringo whines pathetically. He’s probably wondering why they aren’t eating.

“Not yet but–”

“Dean, if this goes right, you never will be. It’ll be over.” Silence falls on the table. It’s almost too much to say it out loud, but it’s the truth. Ten years of fear and fighting and risk could be over in a few days. “But until then, I need you safe, okay?” Mary amends. Dean nods slowly and takes a seat at the table. Kerry coughs as everyone else sits, leaving Mary standing with the spell ingredients still clutched in her hand. “I’ll be right back,”

Mary hurries to the office, and sets the supplies on the desk beneath the map on the wall. There are circles drawn around Idaho Falls, and red string reaching from Lawrence all the way across the country. That’s not what holds her attention though. It’s the picture pinned to the corner where John smiles up at her from the past. She avoids looking at it most days. The guilt and regret is too much. It feels different today though, to look at it and feel hope. It feels good.

 

**Wednesday, October 27, 1993**

**Santa Cruz**

 

Dean’s not used to seeing so many cars in front of the house.

It’s weird. It’s not like they don’t have guests…Actually, they really don’t. Sure Sam and Dean have friends; though, okay, maybe not as many as the popular kids, but they do. But they go over to their houses, if they’re allowed. They’ve tried to bring a few people over, but Mom or Grandpa always get twitchy, and once or twice Ringo went flat out homicidal on a buddy Sam brought over (he doesn’t seem to mind Dean’s friends). Mom and Grandpa don’t have friends of course, not outside of hunters or other people that know the down and dirty of things, like Kerry. Kerry’s really the only neighbor they know too, even after ten years in the neighborhood. Most of the neighbors aside from her stay clear. The house on the other side of them has always been a rental so people have come and gone, some of them more turned off by Ringo’s random bouts of thinking he’s a Rottweiler than others.

Dean recognizes Bobby Singer’s beat up old Chevelle first. He’s thought about asking Bobby to help him look at the Impala, but the hunter has never stayed for more than an hour or two and always seems a bit nervous or annoyed around kids. He’s probably having a ball right now, Dean thinks with a smirk as he gets closer to home. He also knows the Chevy that the Harvelles drive, but the others, including an ancient looking Ford pick-up with a beat up trailer attached, aren’t familiar. Must be the Campbells. Dean’s smile fades as he reaches the door. He knows his cousins about as well as he knows the neighbors. He’s not even sure how he’s related to ‘uncle’ Gary. The only thing he does know is that Christian Campbell is a jerk. So of course that’s the first person he sees when he walks in the door. Perfect.

“Hey,” Dean mutters, letting his backpack fall to the floor. Christian just glares from where he’s sulking at the entrance to the living him then looks back to the assembly of adults who are very obviously having an Important Conversation. “Welcome to California…” Dean says under his breath, then adds, “dick.”

“The other kids are out in the yard,” Christian sneers at Dean, who bristles automatically.

“You’re only three years older than me,” Dean snaps back. “And probably four grade levels below me, so maybe we can call it even.”

Christian’s hand contracts into a fist and Dean seriously reconsiders his life choices, just as Mom emerges from the pow wow. “Hey hon, you’re late. Working on the play again?” she asks. Christian’s face twists in a sick sort of grin that Dean works hard to ignore.

“Uh, yeah, We’re almost done with the sets,” Dean tells her. “They open next week. I saw some of the rehearsals too, it looks good.”

“That’s great. How’s your friend?” Dean _hates_ the way his mom says “friend” with a little smile and he hates the way Christian stifles a smug laugh even more.

“Uh, good,” Dean fumbles. “Actually, I was gonna ask if…well, do you think you’ll be done by Halloween cause…well, Matt asked to hang out and I didn’t know if you…” His mother is staring at him like she’s ready to douse him with holy water and check for possession, and Christian looks like he’s won the damn lottery. “Can we talk in the kitchen?”

“Isn’t Matt your friend from art class?” Great. Mom’s not moving and she remembers. And she looks suspicious.

“Yeah, he’s also in the play and-”

“You got yourself a boyfriend in drama club?” Christian coos and Dean blushes as his mother _finally_ sends the older boy a glare.

“He’s not-” Dean begins to protest but Christian is already sauntering away towards the kitchen. “He’s just a friend,” Dean finishes weakly, more to himself than anyone who might care.

“We’ll talk, okay,” Mom says, her face gentle. “But I’m giving it a preliminary yes."

Dean’s whole body relaxes in happiness and relief. He takes a moment to peek into the living room and the collection of grim-faced hunters. The Campbells glower at the Harvelles while Grampa does the same at Bobby. It’s like they’re related or something. “Kinda tense,” Dean mutters, looking back at his mom.

“It’s gonna be a fun trip,” she replies with a sarcastic smile. “Go see what your brother is up to, okay?”

Dean doesn’t realize until he hears Christian snicker at him from the kitchen that he has actually been sent outside with the other children. He slides the glass shut a bit too forcefully in annoyance, loud enough to get everyone’s attention. Sam looks up from where he’s playing with Jo Harvelle and another kid Dean doesn’t recognize but he guesses is Gary and Denise’s little girl, Gwen. She’s smaller than Sam but Dean thinks she might be a year older.

“Hey, Dean!” Jo calls, tripping in the grass as she runs up hill to greet him. “I like your dog!”

“He’s an idiot,” Dean says, giving Jo a brief hug when she reaches him. “He doesn’t even know how to fetch.”

“He knows how, Dean,” Sam corrects breathlessly, joining them. “He just chooses not to sometimes.”

“Yeah. ’Cause he’s an idiot,” Dean repeats just as the dog in question waddles up to them and pointedly huffs as he pokes his head through Sam’s legs.

“I think you hurt his feelings,” Jo says and Dean rolls his eyes.

“You guys are weird,” Gwen comments, still a bit far off from the group. “Dad says we can’t play with our dogs cause they’re for defense.”

“Ringo defends us,” Sam protests and Gwen scoffs. “Well, he tries.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he’ll keep us real safe,” Gwen says, clearly unimpressed. “Do you think we can get him to pee on Christian?”

Dean decides he likes Gwen. “I think we’d be dumb not to try.”

 

Later that night, Dean is still laughing about how much Christian yelled when he stuck his foot into an extremely wet shoe after dinner. He’s glad no one is staying with them tonight. They’ve all gone off to motels or whatever. Other than getting revenge on Christian, dinner had been a disaster, sorta like the opening scene in _Home Alone_ but with everyone packing a lot more weapons and way more folks sneaking drinks from flasks. About the same amount of pizza, though. Tomorrow night is gonna be super fun.

All night Dean had watched his mother’s face. Between being harried and annoyed she smiled at the little girls, joked with Bill and Ellen, and even got Bobby to chuckle a few times. Sometimes when no one was looking though, she would get quiet and thoughtful. Dean knew who she was missing, what she was thinking. He was missing him too.

Dean turns over in his little twin bed. He really does need to ask for something bigger, but he’s already put in his Christmas request so he doesn’t want to push it. Mom keeps reminding him that Santa’s on a small budget. Too bad angels don’t really care about presents, Dean thinks ruefully. Or privacy. Or listening to apologies for getting chewed out for violating said privacy. Or talking to Dean after two weeks of nothing.

Matt asked him about the beach again today, making sure it would be okay. Dean had told him it would be fine. Which was true, really. But he really couldn’t tell Matt that the ocean didn’t scare him so much as it made him sad. There’s no normal way to tell someone that the beach reminds you of an actual _angel_ who shows up to visit less and less since saving your life. And makes shitty excuses for it too. And then when he does…

Dean shifts restlessly in his bed again, sad and annoyed and embarrassed at the thought of Matt, or anyone normal, ever learning how incredibly weird his life is. His family _kills monsters_ and he can’t tell anyone cause they might be monsters too, or some crap. And he’s mad at an imaginary friend or recurring dream or whatever, because he walked into what Dean had already thought was a dream about Cas except he was Dean’s age and a lot more into getting kissed. That had certainly been the most awkward night of his life and Dean can’t even talk to anyone about it because they’ll think he’s _insane_. Even Sammy laughed last time Dean mentioned Cas. He needs to grow up, he knows that.

Maybe after Mom is done with this hunt, after she gets the thing that killed dad, they really can stop and be normal and Dean won’t even need or want a guardian angel, because normal kids don’t need to worry about demons and ghosts and ghouls.  Maybe he’ll get over…whatever issues he has with Cas and move on. Maybe with Matt.

Dean doesn’t pray to Cas directly, because that’s useless more often than not. But he prays generally, to whoever might be listening. He prays that everyone makes it safe and that the plan works and that soon it will all be over. He prays for normal.

 

**Thursday, October 28, 1993**

**Santa Cruz**

 

“Mom, I made you coffee!” Mary smiles as Sam runs down the hall to where she’s lingering by the front door, a shining thermos clutched in his hands. “Well, I poured it in the thermos, Grandpa made it.”

“Can I have some?” Dean asks, blearily rubbing his eyes.

“Coffee is for grownups,” Sam declares, proudly handing the thermos to Mary.

“I’m more grown up than you,” Dean grumbles.

“No bickering. Say goodbye to your mother,” her dad snaps, clearly just as unhappy to be awake at five a.m. as the boys.

“I’ll call when I get in tonight,” Mary tells them with a thin smile. She’s never been quite this nervous leaving for a hunt, but then again the stakes have never been this high. She pulls Sam into a hug first, squeezing him tight.

“Ow, Mom!”

“Be good for Grandpa, okay?” she tells him. “And don’t let Ringo get into the Halloween candy again.”

“Okay,” Sam says, not even trying to sound honest. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Mary replies into his shaggy brown hair. She turns her attention away and pulls Dean into a hug even tighter than the one she gave Sam. He stiffens then melts into it, holding her just as tight. “I know you wish you were going, honey, but I need you here,” she tells him softly. “Take care of your brother, alright? That’s your job. Just do that for me and I’ll take care of the rest.”

“I will, I promise,” Dean says, his voice small. “Just…come back fast, okay?”

“I’ll try,” Mary hates that she can’t make it a promise. Or even promise that she’ll come back at all. “I love you. Be good.”

“Love you too,” Dean whispers, squeezing her one more time. She turns to her father and knows he can see the tears threatening to escape her eyes.

“You get that son of a bitch for all of us, you hear me?’ he tells her, steel in his gaze. “For your mom.”

“And for Dad,” Dean adds softly.

“Yes, sirs.” Mary takes a deep breath for strength. She doesn’t think she can say more, so she gives her father a quick hug and a nod to the boys before heading out the door. It’s still dark and Bobby is already waiting for her beside her Jeep. They have a fourteen hour drive ahead. And that’s going to be the easiest part of day.

 

**∞**

 

Dean is still smiling when he makes it home from school just before dinner. He doesn’t even care that Grandpa is gonna chew him out for being so late. Losing track of time in the dark, secret world backstage with Matt was worth it. They’d laughed for hours, it felt like, slowly drifting closer. Until Dean had dared to touch Matt’s hand and held it for three whole minutes. He’d even convinced Dean to maybe try out for the spring show…

“I told you to be home before dark, young man,” Grandpa scolds the moment Dean walks in the door and dumps his bags. Of course Christian is right on his heels as he comes out of the kitchen, sneering.

“Sorry. I got, um, distracted?”

“You hanging out with your boyfriend?” Christian jeers.

“Shut up, asshole,” Dean snaps back, his cheeks going red.

“Hey, language,” Grandpa chides, pointing at Dean. “And you,” he turns to Christian, “Go make yourself useful and get the rock salt out of the garage.”

Christian’s face remains smug as he retreats. Dean scowls, following Grandpa into the kitchen where Sam is talking animatedly on the phone as Ringo listens intently.

“…and I told the teacher I _like_ decimals and I really want to try the sixth grade math and…Oh, Dean’s here, hold on.” Sam thrusts the phone at Dean with a smile. “Mom made it! You almost missed her.”

“Hi, Mom. Sorry, I was…”

“You were with your theater friend again, weren’t you?” His mother’s voice is more amused than angry, but there’s also worry there.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean replies, squirming under Sam and Grandpa’s stares. “But we…uh…”

“Dean, I’m not mad I just…I want you to be careful, okay?”

“What?”

“People…People think and do dumb things sometimes when they get the wrong idea about…other people,” she says and Dean wants to yell that people are idiots and what the hell does she mean by ‘wrong idea’ and a whole lots of other things.

“Mom, I’m-”

“I know, honey.”

Christian chooses that moment to return, two bags of rock salt in hand. He drops them and leans against the refrigerator and listens pointedly as Dean flounders for words.

“How’s Idaho?” Dean asks, turning away.

“Oh, it’s fine,” his mother sighs over the line. “We’re holed up in a damn old lumber mill on the outskirts of town like we’re getting ready to rob a bank or something. But that’s the Campbell way or whatever.”

“Sounds cozy,” Dean jokes, but he doesn’t like the image of his mom sleeping on the floor of some creepy abandoned place full of saws.

“We’ll be fine,” she reassures him. “Oh, I’ve got to go, Bobby’s yelling at Gary again. I’ll call tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay, but–” The line is already dead. Dean sighs and hangs up the phone, glowering at Christian as he does. “You need something?”

“Not anymore,” Christian says with a dark smile that makes Dean’s skin crawl. He wrests himself away from the fridge and leaves Dean staring after him.

Dinner isn’t really dinner. There’re too many people to fit around a table and Sam complains about having pizza two nights in a row and that Ringo doesn’t like black olives. Most everyone ends up in the living room watching _Star Wars_ – which Gwen has never seen, poor kid, – on VHS.  Things would be pleasant if it weren’t for Christian wandering restlessly around and Ringo growling at him once in a while. Dean makes a half-hearted attempt at homework, wondering to himself if Jo and Gwen are missing school for this little trip. The movie finishes around nine and Grandpa starts herding the kids to bed.

“But there are two more movies!” Sam protests, even though he’s dutifully carrying the empty popcorn bowl back to the kitchen.

“And you have school tomorrow, young man,” Grandpa argues back. “Let’s get you set up in Dean’s room, the girls are taking yours.”

“I’ll take the couch,” Christian volunteers, then fixes Dean with a cruel look. “I ain’t sharing a room with a faggot.”

The sound of the bowl clattering to the floor isn’t enough to cover up Gwen’s quiet gasp. Dean barely hears it over the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears.

“Hey!” Grandpa snaps. Dean braces himself, rage fighting waves of shame. “You do not speak that way in my house.”

“Yeah, shut the fuck up, asshole.” The entire room turns to Sam in shock and Dean’s doesn’t think he could be prouder of his little brother.

“Sam!” Grandpa yells but Christian doesn’t care now.

“You kiss your mother with that mouth, twerp?” Christian snaps.

“At least his mom’s alive,” Dean says and without warning Christian charges at him. Grandpa grabs him just in time as he raises a fist at Dean.

“And whose fault is that, you fuckers?” Christian snarls, struggling furiously as Grandpa pushes him away.

Dean stares him down, ignoring Jo and Gwen muttering in shock in the background.

“You, take a walk and cool off,” Grandpa orders, pushing Christian into the living room. “Dean, help me with salt lines. Everyone else: bed. Now.” His voice brooks no argument, so Dean follows reluctantly as everyone else disperses. No one argues about why they even need to bother with the salt lines. It makes Dean feel safer, personally, and that’s enough for him.

Dean doesn’t work up the nerve to talk until they’re almost done, pouring a perfect line of white along the front threshold. “I - what he said -” Dean stammers.

“I don’t wanna hear it, Dean.” Grandpa gives him a dark look. “You’re a hunter. People who do what we do won’t stand for that sort of nonsense. You keep that shit to yourself, ya hear?”

Dean feels sick but doesn’t argue. There’s nothing to argue anyway. He drifts through getting ready for bed, and doesn’t remember that Sam is camped out in his room until his head pokes out of his sleeping bag on the floor when Dean flops on to his mattress with a sigh.

“Grandpa’s not mad at you, is he?” Sam asks.

“I dunno,” Dean mutters. “Hey, you want the bed?”

“Nah, this is like a sleepover,” Sam answers with a shrug. “Christian’s an asshole.”

“You’re not supposed to say that.”

“I can say it if it’s true.” Sam props his elbows on the edge of Dean’s bed. “He said a worse word anyway.”

Dean tenses. “Sammy, what he…” Dean swallows. He doesn’t know how to have this conversation. “I like girls.”

“I know, you wouldn’t shut up about Heidi for a month, and she wasn’t even into you,” Sam replies easily and Dean gives a weak smile.

“But I might like Matt too?” It comes out as question; quiet, whispered into the dark room.

“That’s okay.”

Dean turns fully toward Sam in surprise. “What?”

“You’re still my stupid brother, I don’t care,” Sam explains like it’s the easiest thing ever. “And no one else should either.”

“Thanks, Sammy,” Dean mutters, ruffling his brother’s hair. “Sometimes you’re cool.”

Sam gives him a crooked smile and swats his hand away. His eyes go sad in the silence. “Do you think Mom’s gonna be okay?” he asks, voice turning fearful and small. “I…I keep having these nightmares where the bad guy gets her. And then it gets us.”

“That won’t happen, Sammy, I promise.” Dean says it with a much surety as he can muster so he’ll maybe believe it too.

“Yeah but this…this is big.”

“She’s got back up, she’s got the spell. She can take it,” Dean lies. He’s spent all day and night trying not to think about the fight Mom is going into. He hates Christian but he knows exactly how much it hurts, losing his mom like to another thing like what took Dad and Grandma. Aunt Shari was nice too.

Sometimes Dean still has nightmares about that shadow over Sam’s crib. He hears a voice telling him to wake up, to help Sam. He feels the fire and hears the screams, but none of it makes his gut twist with fear like the memory of that shadow and the pure evil he felt in that room. That thing almost took everything from them, and his mom is gonna try and kill it? He knows she strong but…Damn he wishes Cas would show up just so he could tell Dean it was gonna be okay. Cas is a crappy liar though, so be probably wouldn’t say that. It’s up to Dean.

“She’ll be fine,” Dean tells his brother and himself. “And then we’ll be done.”

 

**Idaho Falls, Idaho**

 

The mill is every horror movie cliché Mary hates. Sometimes being a hunter means she gets to laugh at how different real life horror is from the movies, how much worse and sometimes how much more mundane. Werewolves are cooler on screen. Vampires are a hell of a lot prettier. No pea soup with the demons. But tonight they’re stuck with spooky right out of Hollywood. And it’s not even where the fight is gonna go down.

“We’re almost done with the hexbags,” she tells Bobby as she emerges from the old office they’ve taken over as sort of a base. “How are you doing?”

“We got enough holy water to put out a forest fire, plenty of salt rounds, and a fuckton of iron,” Bobby reports, looking down at the supplies. “Hey, you got one of these?” Bobby flashes her a small charm on a string around his neck, a pentacle wreathed in flames.

“Never leave home without it,” Mary replies with a smile, showing him her silver charm bracelet under the cuff of her canvas jacket.

“Smart girl,” Bobby smiles at her, eyes soft and fond.

“That’s why I’m your favorite.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Bobby grouses back without much bite. Maybe even a bit bashful.

“So, you gonna tell me what’s up with you and Rufus?” Mary asks finally. Bobby had been even more taciturn than usual on the drive up. Thank God he’d switched out for Bill after a few hours. Now his face is dark, regretful.

“I screwed up,” Bobby says after a beat, softer than she’s accustomed to hearing him speak. “And it cost us; cost him.”

“I don’t understand.”

Bobby catches her eye with an earnest look. “He tell you where the job was?”

Mary shakes her head.

“Omaha.”

Mary inhales sharply, understanding at last. She knows not to press for details, she doesn’t want them. “I’m sorry,” she says, uselessly.

“Yeah, well, sorry don’t cover shit,” Bobby retorts with a stiff shrug. “Or so I’ve been told.”

“Bobby…” Mary lays a hand on his arm, tentative in her offer of comfort. It surprises her when Bobby’s breath hitches and he stares at her like she’s a life raft in a storm.

“Hey, Singer!” They both look up to where Chris is calling from the front of the mill. “It’s time for your shift on watch!”

“Duty calls,” Bobby rumbles, turning before Mary can say anything else. She watches him go and adds another peeve to her list of annoyances with her cousin, along with his personality going to crap after losing Shari and his son being a raging jackass. Guess she can’t blame them with a loss like that.

“You gonna do anything useful, commander goldilocks?” Chris asks, apparently still there. Mary shoots Chris the finger and heads off to rest. She is still gonna blame them.

 

**Friday, October 29, 1993**

**Santa Cruz**  

1:12 am

 

Matt’s talking about Nirvana again and Dean’s not listening again cause he’s looking at Matt’s mouth. You’d think since he’s getting a second chance he’d take the opportunity to say something cool or useful while Matt talks on and on about moving to Seattle and getting away from his bored mother. Like maybe look at his nice, dark brown eyes. But Dean’s just sitting there in the haze of the dream, watching the guy’s _mouth_ and thinking how nice it is. Like a moron. He could say how he likes Metallica and his mom likes Jackson Browne and still has every Beatles album on vinyl, but all he can do is wonder if kissing Matt will be anything like kissing Kim under the bleachers last August. Dreams are great, kinda, because he thinks about kissing Matt and then he _is_ kissing Matt. But they’re disappointing because the kiss is hollow and there’s no spark or softness or anything but a vague thrill.

Dean pulls away in disappointment and the eyes that meet his are blue and urgent.

“Jesus Christ, Cas! We talked about the privacy thing!” Dean yelps. “Okay, _I_ talked. But this-”

“Dean, stop. You have to listen to me, _now_ ,” Cas thunders, and Dean realizes he has never seen the angel quite so worried or serious, and that’s saying a lot.

“Cas, what’s-”

“There’s something coming. Something dangerous. You have to wake up right now and get Sam and the others somewhere safe.” Cas stares into Dean with a look that makes his blood run cold. “I can’t protect you like this. Just stay safe until I can-”

Dean’s eyes fly open in the quiet dark of his room. Ringo is alert as well, his head raised so Dean can see his silhouette next to Sam, ears pulled back.

“Sammy,” Dean whispers, gooseflesh pricking on his arms as he listens for movement outside his door. His bedside clock says it’s 1:14 am. No one should be awake but something feels wrong. He swings his feet out of the bed and gives Sam a gentle nudge with his foot. “ _Sam_.”

“What? Dean it’s…”

“Shhh,” Dean hisses at the sound of a creak from somewhere in the house. Ringo growls low in his throat.

“Is something out there?” Sam whispers tightly. “Dean?”

“I’m gonna–” Dean gulps. “I’m gonna go check things, you…go make sure Jo and Gwen are okay.”

“Take Ringo with you,” Sam commands and Dean doesn’t argue.

They pad into the empty hall, and Dean only relaxes a fraction when Sam silently slips into his room with the girls. Mom and Grandpa’s rooms are in the basement and his and Sam's rooms and the office are off a long dark hallway that heads to the front area then the rest of the house. Ringo speeds towards the living room ahead of Dean, going straight for the sliding glass door. Dean’s heart starts pounding as he gets closer, and Ringo growls and bares his teeth towards the backyard where wind is whipping the trees. There nothing there though. Shining in the moonlight is the line of salt they laid earlier, bright, white…And broken. Crap. The couch is empty too. No sign of Christian. More bad. Dean has to wake up Grandpa. That’s the first thing he should have done.

Dean turns and slams into a tall, dark-haired body. He yelps as the light flicks on and reveals the intruder’s thin face.

“Kerry?” Dean asks, sighing in relief at the sight of their neighbor. Ringo, however, is not happy to see her and gives the most threatening growl Dean’s ever heard from something under fourteen inches tall.

“Heya, kiddo,” Kerry greets him with an easy smile. There’s something gleeful about her face though. Something hungry and unfamiliar that makes every ounce of relief flee Dean’s body. “I heard a noise. Came to check on you and Sammy.” 

Dean’s mouth goes dry as Ringo snarls beside him. “I didn’t hear anything,” Dean says carefully.

“Then why you up, Dean-o?” Kerry asks back, glancing at Ringo, who looks like he wants to take a chunk out of the slim woman.

 _Because a jerk angel said something was here and I don’t think he was wrong_ , Dean thinks.

“You don’t call me, Dean-o,” Dean states, his voice shaking as he starts retreating backwards into the kitchen. “How did you get in?”

A dark smile spreads over Kerry’s face. Dean’s never seen an expression quite so cruel or triumphant before.

“I had a man on the inside,” Kerry purrs and her eyes fill with gleaming black.

“GRA-” Dean’s yell is silenced by a hand over his mouth and then muffled by the sound of Ringo barking with all his heart as he launches himself at the thing that’s not Kerry. Dean struggles fruitlessly as another hand locks on his arm. The dog clamps his jaw on Kerry’s ankle then is sent flying across the living room, smacking the wall with a yelp and a crack.

“That thing better not have rabies,” Kerry grimaces, rounding Dean as Christian – it has to be Christian – yanks him backwards into the kitchen. There’s a symbol painted on the linoleum around a bowl in the middle of it full of something that stinks like rotten eggs. Sulfur. Black eyes. Broken salt lines. The thing he’s looking at is a demon. And his cousin, his blood, let it in.

Fury rises in Dean and he bites down hard on the hand over his mouth then sends a kick to his captor’s shins. Christian swears in pain and for a second Dean is free before an invisible force pins him to the fridge.

“You summoned it?!” Dean yells in horror when he can finally see Christian’s red face. He’s breathless but he looks satisfied as he takes a place beside the demon. “You fucking _bastard_! What do you think you’re doing? Why!?”

“Aw, I think the little man’s upset,” the demon drawls, licking her teeth. “But you’re right. Your cos’ here all but gave me an engraved invitation. Lucky too, otherwise we’d never have found you.” The demon advances on Dean and his terror rises. He hates the way it moves, using Kerry’s slight body and angular face, but not Kerry at all. It’s a sick parody of the person he knows and it’s horrifying.

“Why?” Dean demands again, refusing to let the panic and fear own him. He focuses on Christian, looking past the demon. “Why’d you sell out your family to a demon?”

“You ain’t my family!” Christian snarls back. “My mom was my family, and they said they’d give her back.”

“Gotta love it, huh?” the demon chuckles, pushing right into Dean’s space and running a cold finger down his cheek. It makes him sick. “The things we do for our families.”

“You don’t know anything about family,” Dean protests through gritted teeth.

“Sure I do,” the demon smiles. “I got a father, just like you do…or just like you _did_. Until my daddy killed him. Stuck him like a pig and slapped him on the ceiling and boom! My father told me the whole thing. Like a bedtime story. I especially like the part where if you hadn’t been awake, your papa probably would still be alive.”

Dean can’t look away from the thing wearing Kerry’s face. She looks elated and satisfied, like fear and horror are something she can gobble up and Dean’s an all-you-can-eat buffet. He’s never felt more frightened or helpless.

“ _Exorcitatmus te_ ,” Dead starts, voice shaking terribly. “ _Omnis in mundus spiriti – spiritus, et…et dia…_ ” The remaining words are a blank and the demon just laughs, her breath hot and fetid against Dean’s face. “What do you want?” Dean whispers, bile rising in his throat as the demon presses against him, the stink of sulfur seeping from her skin.

“We just want to check on the project we started ten years ago,” she purrs, pawing him. “The one you and daddy deadest interrupted.”

“This is about…Sam?” Dean feels a new sort of panic rising.

“I knew you weren’t as dumb as you looked, sweetface,” the demon says with a grin. “We’ve been trying for years, but no one’s been able to get close to you wily little things till now. How did you manage to sanctify a whole town, by the way?”

“I don’t know what you’re–”

“Of course you don’t, Dean-o,” she laughs, licking her lips. “But desperate times; you know the drill. ’Course, we also wanted to, let’s say, remove a few roadblocks. Eh, Christian?” The demon springs back and swings an arm around Christian, gripping his shoulder tight. For the first time the older boy looks afraid. “Time for the last part of the deal, honey, and then you’re done.”

Christian swallows, staring up at Dean. Dean shakes his head, begging with his whole soul for Christian to not do what Dean knows is coming.

“They’re in Idaho Falls, an old mill outside of town,” Christian says, voice shaking but sure, and Dean lets out a wordless cry of rage and horror. “But my dad’s there! You can’t…”

The demon laughs, ignoring Dean’s struggles and Christian’s protest. “Thank you, Mr. Campbell. I gotta say it has been a _pleasure_ doing business with you. And now…”

“Now you bring back my mom,” Christian demands, his voice cracking and his face pale with fear. “You said you’d –”

“I believe my exact words were if you did what I asked, you and she would ‘be together again,’” the demon says. Christian is struggling in earnest now, looking between the demon and Dean is rising horror. “And you will be, sweetie. But first, I gotta make a call.”

“No!” Dean yells when he sees the knife glittering in the demon’s hand.

Christian’s eyes go wide and his mouth opens in a scream, but the demon slices his throat in one fluid motion before he can make a sound. Christian’s body collapses to the kitchen floor, twitching as blood pours from his throat. The demon cackles and grabs the silver bowl Christian had used for his ritual. She unceremoniously dumps the burnt contents into the pool of blood spreading onto the linoleum.

“That fine print’s a bitch,” the demon smiles, winking at Dean,

“No!” Dean yells again as the demon gathers blood in the bowl from Christian’s gushing throat. The demon ignores him, swirling her finger in the blood with a grin. It bubbles and steams at her touch.

“ _Tire quiero patem me a di_ ,” the demon whispers, eyes filling with black again. Dean can’t look away or move, but he can feel tears stinging at his eyes. “Yes, father. I’ve found them, and the others are just where we wanted. Idaho Falls, an old mill on the outside of town. Yes.”

A sound replies from the blood. It can barely be called a voice. It’s like the grate of metal on metal on top of a hundred whispers and it fills Dean with a new wave of fear.

“Yes, I’ll take care of them,” the demon whispers and Dean slams his eyes closed at last. She’s going to find Sam and Jo and Gwen and Grandpa. She’s going to do to them what she did to Christian and Dean is going to have to watch. And then she’s going to kill him too.

 _Cas. Cas! Please. Where are you?_ Dean screams in his head, even though he knows it’s useless. Cas isn’t coming. No one is.


	7. Run For Your Life

**Idaho Falls, Idaho**

 

“So, who’d you piss off to get stuck with this gig?”

Mary looks up from the stock of the shotgun she’s been examining for the better part of ten minutes and smiles at Ellen. The other woman’s face is warm and weary and she shivers a bit as she steps out into the chill night air. Mary’s been on watch for an hour already, going over the plan for tomorrow in her head.

“Volunteered,” Mary answers. “Knew I wasn’t gonna be able to sleep anyway.”

“I think Bill’s got a prescription that’ll help that, straight from a Dr. J. Daniels in Tennessee.” Mary shakes her head. “How about some company?”

“Don’t you want to spend time with your husband?” Mary scoots over on the log she’s sitting on to make room for the other woman.

“Nah, I’ll see him enough on the way back.” Ellen offers Mary a thermos and Mary takes a swig of stale, cold coffee.

“Last hunt, right?”

“Yeah, right,” Ellen laughs back, taking her own gulp from the thermos. The yellow glow from the single light Mary is camped under makes the shadows seem even darker on Ellen’s face. “He tell you his new plan?”

“Something about a bar, right? I thought he was asking for money so I tuned it out a bit.”

“Can’t blame you,” Ellen shrugs. “He thinks we should open a saloon or something, a place for hunters.”

“Oh yeah, that’s a untapped market right there,” Mary says with a sly smile and Ellen gives a crackling laugh.

“He says we all need a place to network, trade info. He’s got a point, we do better work when we can communicate.”

“The Campbells have been communicating for centuries, seemed to worked, until recently. And Rufus just bought god damn cellular phone,” Mary muses. “It could help.”

“And you know Bill, can’t turn down a chance to help,” Ellen replies, shaking her head. “Did he ever tell you how we met and got into this whole mess?”

“Only that he was an idiot and you saved his ass.”

“We were both idiots. It was the seventies and we were trying to expand our minds, if you know what I mean, and we ended up in a den full of other idiots stoned out of their gourds where a wraith had settled in.”

Mary raises an appreciative eyebrow. That’s the perfect hunting ground for a wraith, seeing as they make people crazy. No one would miss half the victims and the side effects wouldn’t get noticed. “And you took it down?”

“To this day I don’t know how we managed it. Broken glass and the courage of youth or some bullshit. We were the only ones that made it out though.” Ellen’s husky voice echoes with old regrets. “And that never sat well with Bill. After that he was committed to helping people, as much as he could. So two weeks ago he comes home from a hunt in Nebraska with flyer for some roadhouse that’s for sale.” Ellen rolls her eyes but smiles. “It would be safer, especially for Jo.”

“She’s a good kid. She’s got good parents.”

“Yours too. And they shouldn’t have to grow up afraid.” Ellen’s face is marked with guilt that Mary knows all too well.

“You know, Dean, he…I think he’s got a crush at school and…” Mary pauses, wary of exposing Dean and her fears even to someone she trusts. “It’s a boy. I think.” Ellen barely raises an eyebrow and nods for Mary to go on. “And I just…he can’t have that and be hunter, you know? And even if he doesn’t end up hunting, how do I protect him from all the assholes out there?”

“You can’t,” Ellen cuts her off and Mary balks. “You just gotta raise him strong enough and good enough to take care of himself.”

“Easier said than done,” Mary sighs. “Maybe when this is over, it’ll be different.”

“Wanna invest in a bar?” Ellen teases and Mary laughs, relieved.

“Did I tell you Dean asked for a computer for Christmas?”

“You must have a rich Santa out in Cali –” Ellen stops at the sound of boots on gravel approaching from the dark “Gary?”

“What’s the gossip, ladies?” Gary asks, his voice high and brittle. Mary feels goosebumps rise on her arms. His face is wreathed in shadows but what she can make out of his expression is troubling.

“Ain’t you supposed to be enjoying the comforts of your shitty trailer?” Ellen asks, sounding as suspicious as Mary feels. “Where’s Chris and Denise?”

“Oh, they’re, uh…” Gary looks over their heads towards the mill just as the door swings open with a chilling creak. There’s a shape in the shadows and something about it makes Mary’s heart stop.

“They’re not a problem.” It’s Bill’s voice, but it’s not. It’s too smooth and too dark. And Mary knows it.

“Hon?” Ellen asks, a tremble in the word. Mary grabs her wrist as they both stand. Bill steps forward slowly into their circle of light. Mary’s gaze travels up from his boots to the predatory leer on his face and to his eyes. There’s a moment of hope or madness where she almost convinces herself it’s a trick of the light; that they can go back. But no. Bill’s eyes are a sickly, clouded yellow.

“Bill isn’t taking calls right now.”

“Ellen, run,” Mary commands, reaching for the hex bag in her pocket.

“Long time no see, kiddo,” the demon says with a grin.

 

**Santa Cruz**

 

“No!” Dean yells it so loud it hurts his throat but the demon doesn’t even flinch. He can’t hear any other movement in the house either and he doesn’t know what that means. Maybe Sammy already got the girls out? Maybe Grandpa has them or maybe they’re all dead already. No. There wasn’t time. And if Dean can just stall maybe…“What do you want?” Dean repeats and it comes out as a sob. “Who are you?” That gets her attention.

“You know, you’d be surprised how many people don’t ask that,” the demon tells him, casually dropping the bowl of blood so that it clatters on the floor by Christian’s lifeless body and the blood splashes on Dean’s bare feet. It’s still warm. “Most folks go with ‘unclean thing’ or ‘abomination’ which, really, so impersonal, don’t you think?”

“I want your name,” Dean says, swallowing down his fear and panic. “So I can remember it for when I kill you.”

“Daddy was right about the spunk in this family,” the demon grins at him, sidling closer. She trails a few bloody fingers over Dean’s chest and chuckles. “I got a lot of names, kiddo." Dean tries and fails to squirm as she marks his pale blue sleepshirt with his cousin’s blood. She’s pleased, proud and unworried. Dean can work with that.

“What does your dad call you? Skank ass murdering whore’s a mouthful.” The demon just smiles at the insult, almost like she’s impressed.

“Meg,” she says, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “Call me Meg.”

“Some name for a demon,” Dean replies. “What’s dad’s name? Maurice?”

The demon’s – Meg’s – eyes narrow. “Something as small and insignificant as you isn’t worthy of speaking his name,” she hisses, inches from Dean’s face.

“If I’m so insignificant, why don’t you kill me?” It’s a stupid thing to ask, but it’s all Dean can come up with.

“You think you’re gonna get me to spill the big plan before I gut you and see what’s protecting you from us?” Meg trails the dull edge of the knife she still holds over his cheek. Dean fights the reflex to shut his eyes.

“I think you like to talk,” Dean says and Meg gives a little shrug. “And I think you’re afraid.”

“Say that again, nugget,” Meg growls, face going hard.

“And I think big daddy is afraid too,” Dean pushes. “Otherwise he would have come here himself instead of sending a minion bitch.”

“My father’s probably already painting the walls with your family’s blood.”

“Not if he’s dead,” Dean snaps back, clinging to that hope.

“You don’t have the juice for that,” Meg says, but there’s a hint of fear in her voice. “Anyway, I’ve got a little bro to–”

The shotgun blast explodes the second Meg turns from Dean. She staggers back with a furious cry and the invisible force holding Dean releases. There’s another deafening bang as Dean’s grandfather unloads another salt round into the demon’s chest from where he stands in the kitchen doorway.

“Dean, get behind me!” Grandpa orders, gun still aimed at the demon, his face dark with rage. Dean scrambles to obey, bare feet slipping on the bloody linoleum.

“You think a little bit of _salt_ is gonna hurt me, Samuel?” Meg yells.

“Dean, get to Sam and the others they’re…” Meg raises a hand and Grandpa pumps the shotgun to fire another round into her chest. Kerry’s chest, Dean realizes. There’s dark blood oozing from a dozen little holes in her pink linen shirt. The demon growls, a noise that shakes the whole room and her eyes flash black.

“Yes, please, tell me where they are,” Meg says as Dean cowers behind his grandfather.

“You’re not getting my grandsons,” Grandpa says, smooth and easy. “Dean, my pocket.”

“Your namesake is already ours, Samuel,” Meg answers with a grin and lunges at them.

Dean acts out of pure reflex, grabbing at Grandpa’s pocket and finding a dented silver flask. The older man gets off two more shots at Meg as Dean fumbles with the cap of the flask, hands shaking. He hears the click of the emptied shot gun and sees the black of Meg’s eyes as she launches herself at them. He swings the flask at her and the holy water hits her skin with a horrible sizzling sound. The smell of burnt meat and sulfur fills the room as Meg screams. Grandpa grabs Dean roughly and they run.

“The office. We have to…” the rest of the words are lost in a cry as Grandpa is yanked away. Dean turns just in time to hear a dull crack as his body is flung against the living room wall. Meg is on him, hand on his throat. Dean stumbles a few feet back, not sure if he should run or fight.

“Get off of him!”

Meg’s head whips around to look for the source of the voice just as Dean’s panic reaches its peak. Sam is standing in the open front, eyes wide in horror. The smile that spreads across Meg’s face is satisfied and terrifying.

“Why hey there, Sammy,” she grins. “You want me to let ol’ grandpappy go? Make me.” It’s a challenge Dean doesn’t understand but there’s something defiant in his brother’s furious eyes that rises to meet it. Sam remains in place, shaking and staring at the demon for a few horrifying seconds until she gives a small, mocking chuckle. “Maybe you aren’t as…” Meg words are cut off by the china cabinet flying into her from its place against the wall.

“What the…” Dean gasps.

“Dean get him away!” Grandpa yells, snapping Dean back into action. Sam runs towards them but Dean snatches him before he can get to close to the stunned demon. He heaves his screaming brother into his arms and runs, listening to of the sounds of struggle and behind them. The office is at the very end of the hall and Dean knows what’s there.

“Dean, we can’t leave them!” Sam protests, but Dean knows that’s not the point. The steps behind them are steady and unrushed, as if the demon knows she can take her time. They reach the office door and Sam wriggles free just in time for them to turn to see what used to be Kerry’s face sneering at them.

“You can’t hide from us, Sam,” she says as Dean fumbles the door open.

“Don’t need to hide,” Dean tells her and pulls Sam back from the open door as his grandfather barrels down the hall and tackles Meg into the office.

“No!” Sam screams as they crash into the desk in a tempest of clawing fists and kicking limbs. Meg subdues her foe easily, rising with a foot on Grandpa’s throat and no patience left in her face.

“Alright, that was impressive,” Meg declares, pushing Grandpa down then advancing. “Sadly I only want the one of you, but it is going to be fun ripping – what the hell?!”

Dean basks in her rage as she keeps trying to move closer to where he and Sam linger in the door but can’t move past a certain point. She’s trapped.

“You don’t think we were ready for this?” Grandpa laughs weakly, though his voice is thick and pained. He pushes himself up as Meg rounds on him and gives a glance to the ceiling where a pentagram laced with other symbols is painted.

“A devil’s trap, very nice,” Megs says, annoyed. “But also: really dumb.” Meg doesn’t take her eyes off Dean and Sam as she kneels down and grabs Grandpa by the collar. “Because now chrome dome is in here with me and you’re out there with my back up.” As if on cue a mournful howl sounds from outside and that awful smile spreads over the demon’s face.

“Hellhound,” Grandpa murmurs, eyes falling shut in defeat. Whatever hope Dean had withers. “Boys…run.”

 “No!” Sam yells. Dean grabs him before he can hurl himself into the room, pulling him back into the hall but not looking away from the scene. “Dean! Grandpa, no!”

“Grandpa, she’ll kill you,” Dean hears himself say.

“You got that right, and my pet is going to kill you, Dean-o, and those other tasty treats too, when we find ’em,” Meg says and Dean grips Sam tighter. “Hope I get to watch. It’s all a matter of how fast I can get out of here.” The entire house shudders at that word and Meg smiles. “I hear the San Andreas fault is lovely this time of year.”

“Dean.” His Grandfather’s voice cuts through the fear and horror. His eyes meet Dean’s and he looks so weary. So old and beaten and…ready. “Protect them.”

Dean doesn’t close his eyes fast enough. Maybe he doesn’t want to because somehow it’s important that he sees. Sam screams as the demon clenches her hand and twists. Dean still hears the sound though; wet and brittle at the same time and so fast. He see the moment his grandfather’s eyes go from alive to not. The way his body instantly slumps, though it’s still held up by the demon. She’s laughing and Sam is still screaming as Dean grabs his brother and runs.

“Where are Jo and Gwen?” Dean demands when they reach the living room. They don’t have much time but Dean needs to know where to _go_.

“They’re outside, we made a circle,” Sam answers, flat and numb. “Dean he…what about…”

“Sammy, not right now we gotta move.” The house rumbles again and there’s another howl in the distance. “Now, Sammy!” Sam heaves a deep breath, nods and runs, leading Dean out the front and towards the driveway where Jo and Gwen stand, holding each other for dear life.

“Where’s Mister Campbell and Christian?” Jo squeaks.

Gwen doesn’t say anything, just stares at the blood on Dean’s shirt and feet.

“Something is coming we have to get somewhere safer,” Dean says, casting his eyes down to the circle of white around the girls that is already fading in the night breeze. The next howl is much closer, followed by a deep, wet growl.

“Where?” Gwen demands. “If we can’t get in the house there’s nowhere –”

“I don’t know!” Dean yells. “But we can’t stay here!”

“Dean!” Sam grabs his brother’s arm and twists him in time to see a blur of beige fur rush out of the house, heading towards the street. “No!”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean whispers, amazed the dog survived Meg and appalled that it seems to be heading directly towards the other canine noises approaching down the street. “We gotta run, now!” Dean turns away at the sound of barking and growls, grabbing Gwen roughly and pulling her after them. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sam do the same to Jo.

The cement of the sidewalk is hard and cold under his bare feet, the pounding of their steps inaudible over the approaching growls of the beast. _Invisible, hellhounds are invisible_ , Dean remembers that from somewhere. Something Grandpa told him about crossroads and he can’t think about that, he can’t think about anything. They run, fast as their legs will carry them up the hill. It’s going to slow them down.

Christian is dead. Grandpa is dead. The demon knows where mom is. They’re all going to die. Everyone but Sam because of some reason Dean doesn’t understand. _Please._ He’s not sure if he says it or just thinks it or who he’s even begging.

_Help. Please._

A shrill yowl of pain comes from close behind them. Sam is the first to turn and he cries out as he trips. Dean stumbles back to his brother, caught watching in horror as the invisible creature lifts Ringo into the air, red blossoming onto his fur. Sam screams and the dog is hurled to the side.

“Keep going!” Dean orders, pulling Sam up. He shoves his brother behind him as the girls scream. Maybe they’re words, Dean doesn’t know. “I can buy you time! Go!”

Sam’s protest is lost under the hellhound’s roar and the whole world screaming. Dean feels Sam retreat more than he sees it. He smells the beast’s putrid breath, feels the heat of its approach. This time, he closes his eyes.

The pain doesn’t come. Instead there is light so bright Dean can see it with his eyes closed.

Dean’s eyes fly open at the sound of an explosion. It has to be the street light because sparks are raining down on the figure before him. It can’t be Meg, Dean knows that instantly. It’s a man, standing between him and the hellhound, with his back to Dean.

“What the hell?” Dean breathes as a long silver blade appears out of nowhere in the man’s hands. Another street light explodes as the hellhound gives a roar and the man braces himself then stabs up into empty air. The thing _screams_ , a sound like metal and fire, and blood pours from the air onto the man as light flashes above him. The night air fills with the scent of burning and sulfur as the man gives a shove and the still invisible beast falls to the ground with a heavy thud.

The man turns and the second before the flickering light hits his face Dean knows what he’s going to see. Maybe it’s the dark hair; maybe it’s simply the way he stands, stiff and strong and so familiar. The face he’s seen in dreams for ten years turns and blue eyes meet Dean’s.

“…Cas?”

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean stares, trying to understand, trying to get a hold of the hurricane of emotions inside him. This is too much. On top of everything, this is too much.

“What–”

A deafening crack from the direction of the house stops his questions, and Cas’s focus whips away. The angel’s eyes narrow and his grip on his weapon tightens. Dean sees what he’s seeing a second later: a cloud of black smoke streaking towards them like a missile.

“You will not touch them,” Cas says, his voice like distant thunder as he raises a hand towards the smoke, and the night fills with blinding light. Dean shuts his eyes, shielding his face with his hands as a riot of unearthly screams erupts from above him.

Then silence.

 

**Idaho Falls**

 

“No need to run off, Mary,” the yellow-eyed demon grins.

“Get out of my husband, you fucker,” Ellen growls beside her, moving to attack.

Mary holds her back, looking between Gary and Bill’s stolen bodies.

“In fact I don’t know why you would run, considering how long you’ve been looking for me,” the demon goes on, easy as anything. “Ain’t that ironic, Tom?”

“Sure is,” the demon inside Gary agrees. They circle the two women, methodical steps in the rough gravel as they close in on Mary and Ellen like prey. “Considering how long we’ve been looking for you.”

“You have no idea the trouble you put me through, Mary,” Yellow Eyes purrs, stopping and pinning her with his sulfur gaze. “I’m real curious about how you kept hidden so long. Maybe there is something to that mystery spot. But I guess I really should be grateful, saved me a lot of other work.”

“What are you talking about?” Mary asks before she can think.

“Why, my special little Sammy of course.” The words fall like a bomb and Mary’s grip on the hex bag in her pocket tightens. “I knew he had to be _the_ one when he was the only one I couldn’t find.”

“You stay away from my kid!”

“Oh, too late for that, I’m already there, always have been, inside,” the demon says with a chuckle, coming within a foot of her. The idea of running is useless, even if she could. “And I’ve got my best taking stock of our little prince right now.”

“What?” It’s Ellen that asks.

“Oh, that’s right, your little whelp is with him, huh?” the demon says and Mary’s terror ratchets up to a hundred. “Bet she’ll be lots of fun. Big brave Dean also.”

“This one’s got one there too,” the other demon laughs. “He’s screaming about it in here.”

“Too bad I broke ol’ Bill’s neck before I hitched a ride,” Yellow Eyes says, winking at Ellen. “Sure he’d have a lot to say about what we’re gonna do to you and sweet little Joanna Beth.”

Mary moves fast, pulling out the hex bag and shoving it at the demon. Yellow Eyes blinks and stumbles back, looking at the bundle of black cloth in curiosity before he begins choking and shaking. The other demon starts at them and Mary unloads a salt round into his chest. Another shot rings out from the dark and Mary and Ellen spin to see Bobby, face bloody and wrathful, and pistol in hand, rushing from the mill.

“Go!” Bobby yells as one demon thrashes in place and the other tries again to rush towards them. “Mary, now!” Bobby fires another shot and Mary’s ears ring as she pulls Ellen away from the sight of her husband screaming in pain. At least, it was pain. They turn, shoulder to shoulder with Bobby, as the demon laughs.

“No,” Ellen whispers.

“Wooo! That was a good try!” The demon in Bill crows, righting himself and examining the hexbag still in his hand. “ _Defigere et depurgare_ , right? Haven’t seen that one in a century or so.” The demon flexes his fingers and the bag bursts into flame. “It takes more than that to make a dent in something as old as me.”

“Too bad that gun’s vanished,” the other demon says, sneering and barely bothered by the gunshot wounds in his chest.

“Too bad indeed,” Yellow Eyes agrees with a smirk.

“Are you gonna do something or just talk us to death?” Bobby demands, raising his gun again. Mary mimics him and Ellen draws a pistol. The demon just smiles, wiping a small trail of blood from his chin.

“I think I’m just going to…enjoy this,” he says at last, drawing Bill’s hunting knife from his belt. “Starting with wifey.”

“Leave them out of this! I’m the-” A new sound cuts off Mary’s cry. It’s like wind and screaming and thunder all combined. The demons look up into the black night sky as a cloud of smoke rushes toward them. It circles around and between the two demons like a dragon out of a fairy tale, screeching and whispering at the same time.

“We have to go,” the lesser demon yells over the smoke, eyes shifting black. Yellow Eyes looks at Mary, unperturbed by whatever has his minion spooked. “If it followed her we’re fucked!”

“Nothing can protect them forever, Mary,” Yellow Eyes says with a grin then flings his head back. Gary does the same and their jaws unhinge as two more columns of smoke stream from the men, one tinged a sickly yellow. The demons streak away into the night and Gary and Bill’s bodies flop to the ground in lifeless heaps.

“Bill!” Ellen screams, hurling herself at her husband. Mary can already see the way his head hangs, confirmation that the demon wasn’t lying.

“What the hell spooked them?” Bobby asks under his breath, still on alert.

Mary has no answer. Guilty tears prick her eyes as she stares around the scene. She thinks she sees the shadow of a man’s form in the distance and begins to run for it. But it’s gone in the blink of an eye. Maybe it was never there.

“Mary, we gotta get out of here,” Bobby’s voice is closer than she expected. When Mary turns he’s reaching for her, face pale behind the blood smeared across it and eyes full of pity and pain.

Mary wants to hurl herself into Bobby’s arms and sob. She wants to break and fall and scream and cry out ten years of regret and guilt until there’s nothing left in her. She wants to surrender to weakness and just…stop. But Ellen is sobbing and Denise is stumbling out of the mill and Bobby face is determined now.

“We gotta get to those kids,” Bobby growls and those are the words that get her moving.

“We have to get to a phone,” Mary says and starts running.

 

**Santa Cruz**

 

It’s warm in the backseat with four kids squeezed in all together. It’s tight, sure, but they’re all small enough that they fit. Jo and Gwen fell asleep a while ago, their quiet sniffling subsiding into soft, regular breaths. Dean can barely make them out in the dark, now that they turned off the flashlight they’d found among the other junk in the garage. He thinks Jo’s hand is fisted in Gwen’s tee shirt, close to where her face is nestled on the other girl’s chest. Sam’s holding onto the Dean in almost the same way, his ear against Dean’s heart, but neither of them is asleep.

He can hear and feel Sam fiddling with the flashlight, nervous and tense. Too miserable to sleep, too scared to move. Dean fidgets too, running his fingers over the engravings on the silver flask of holy water, tracing and retracing the filigreed cross.

“What time is it?” Sam asks softly.

“Why would I know?” Dean whispers back, too tired to be annoyed.

“Cause you’re the big brother, you know everything, you said so,” Sam replies. Dean pulls him a bit closer, rubbing his arm. “It’s gotta be dawn soon, right?”

“I don’t know,” Dean admits. He has no idea how many hours it’s been since he’d opened his eyes to an empty street and sky. Cas and the demon both gone as if they’d never existed.

“What are we gonna do when…”

“I _don’t_ know,” Dean repeats in a louder whisper and he feels Sam shrink. His plan didn’t go beyond getting to the one safe place left to them. It’s not like the Impala is actually safe but at least they have a circle of salt around it and the doors lock. It was all he could do. There was no one to call, even if they were brave enough to head back in the house and risk seeing…them. And there was nowhere else to go.

“What if Mom…”

“Don’t say it.” It makes Dean feel like he’s going to be sick all over again. He’d puked in the bushes when they got back to the house – just from the sight of the gaping front door blown off its hinges. If he thinks about it too much he can still smell sulfur instead of the copper stench of Christian’s blood staining his clothes.

“But–” A sound outside stops Sam’s protest. It’s a car engine that draws close and then shuts off. They both tense, Sam fumbling for the tire iron that’s fallen out of Jo’s hands as they strain to hear footsteps.

They wait for what feels like forever, holding their breath until the door from the house into the garage gives a familiar creak and heavy steps approach. Whoever it is walked right past the salt. That has to be a good thing, right? Still, Dean’s grip on the flask tightens. Jo and Gwen’s breathing has sped up. They’re awake now. They all wait.

The intruder throws up the cover on the Impala and the four children all yelp as the brightness of a flashlight floods the car. Dean slams the door open, knocking the other back as he splashes the holy water blindly and the person – a man judging by the voice – swears. Dean’s heart jumps. He’d know that voice anywhere.

“…goddamnit, boy I am here to help!” Rufus Turner yells, dropping the light so they can see him. Dean doesn’t know if he’s disappointed or relieved. He doesn’t care. “Your mom called me. Luckily I was in the area waiting for this all to go to hell.”

“She’s okay?” Sam asks and Dean lets out the breath he was holding.

“She’s okay, on her way now.” Dean grabs Sam’s hand and squeezes tight, relief flooding him. “Who’s in there?” Rufus asks darkly, looking past Dean, the implication clear.

“Sam, Jo, Gwen and me,” Dean answers, his voice shaking. “Everyone else…”

“I know, kid. I saw.” Rufus stops him. “I’m gonna take care of the mess inside, okay?”

“Okay,” Dean says numbly.

“Sit tight and try to get some rest. This may take a while,” Rufus orders and they all sink back into the seat in compliance. He moves to leave then turns back to them, face barely readable in the dark of the garage. “How the hell did you get rid of that thing?”

Dean doesn’t know if Rufus is talking about Meg or the hellhound or both. There’s no way Rufus could even know about the second one though, right? Sam and the girls had asked Dean the same thing when they’d rushed back down the hill to him after Cas had vanished. He didn’t have an answer then and he didn’t have one now.

“It was…” A soft whine from behind Rufus interrupts him and before Dean can process Sam is scrambling over him and out of the car.

“Ringo!” Sam all but sobs, pulling the bloodied dog up into his arms. “Oh my god.”

“I thought he was…” Dean swallows, the words catching in his mouth. “He distracted it. And we got away,” he half lies. Rufus gives him a doubtful look but doesn’t question him.

“Stay here,” the hunter orders and Dean nods. He helps Sam pull the dog back into the car with them. Ringo’s breathing is labored and his fur is matted with blood but he licks at Sam and Dean’s faces and gives a soft yip of relief.

Dean lets his head fall back, feeling like he can breathe for the first time in hours. He pushes away the memories of Christian and Grandpa and questions about Kerry and everyone else. Mom is okay. Somehow their damn _dog_ is okay. Sam and Jo and Gwen made it and so did he. That’s what he has to think about now. That’s what matters.

 

∞

 

Mary and Ellen take turns breaking every traffic law and speed limit between Idaho and the Pacific ocean, cutting a fourteen hour trip down to ten. Denise is too hurt and shell shocked to do much so she just stares out the rear window. The rush makes up for the time they wasted leaving the mill and calling Rufus. Bobby had stayed back to deal with the bodies. He’ll meet them in Santa Cruz.

No one talks. What’s Mary supposed to say to these women? ‘Welcome to the husband murdered by a demon club?’ When they’re not driving they pretend to sleep. Pretend that they aren’t going mad with the fear that their children are going to be the next corpses they see. Or going over how to tell three kids their dads are dead. All because Mary couldn’t finish what she should never have started twenty years ago. 

Mary guns the engine up the final hill and lets out a shuddering breath when she sees Rufus’s Bronco parked in front of her house. She parks the Jeep crooked in the driveway and bursts out of the door, Denise and Ellen rushing after her. Her front door is gone and Rufus is waiting in the hall, shaking his head.

“They’re in the car, like you–”

Mary doesn’t hear the rest. “Dean! Sam!” she yells, rushing to the garage. The boys tumble out of the Impala just as she opens the door, and she pulls then into a hug so tight no one can breathe.

“Mom, I’m so sorry I tried to…” Dean babbles into her shoulder. Sam just cries.

“Mommy!” she hears Jo sob and feels the child shove past her to her mother. She glances up to see Gwen emerge last.

“Hey, baby,” Denise whispers, pulling her own daughter into her arms.

Mary pulls back, surveying her boys. Their clothes are stained with blood and their eyes are red in exhausted faces.

“Where’s…” she doesn’t get to finish the question before Dean shakes his head and Sam gives another sob, burying himself back in her shoulder.

“Mom, I’m sorry he…”

For some reason Mary looks at Jo and Gwen, and wants to hold them too. They’re about to hear the same news. That’s four dead fathers now among the group of weeping hunters and children in her garage.

“It’s okay, it wasn’t your fault,” Mary tells her oldest son, pulling him back to her. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry you had to do this alone.”

Dean makes a noise as if to protest then shakes his head, sniffling. She turns to the sound of Rufus’s boots behind her.

“We got three bodies in here and neighbors that are gonna start asking questions,” he tells her, blunt as ever. “Where we going?”

 

 

Castiel watches from a distance as people rush through the house, gathering clothes and supplies while trying not to look at anything. Not at the blood stains or broken furniture or cracked walls. Sam and Dean don’t go inside. When the other hunter arrives, bearded face stony and dour, he doesn’t look at Rufus. Mary sends him – Bobby she calls him in a grateful voice – into the destroyed office where he pushes books into boxes with grim purpose. Castiel can still feel the residue of the demon’s power there, as if it seeped into the walls when she took Samuel Campbell’s life. He turns his gaze away in guilt.

Dean and Sam comfort Jo Harvelle. She hasn’t stopped crying since her mother told her that her father hadn’t made it. Another life Castiel did not save. Another child he failed. Everyone moves quickly, trading worried words about ‘what the law is gonna think’ and missing persons and funeral pyres. They pack clothes and no one tells the children where they are going. The other child and her mother leave with angry words, telling Mary to never come near them again. They’re done. Mary accepts everything with a nod and a look of regret. Maybe jealousy. Castiel can't tell.

It’s near sunset when Mary hustles the boys into her Jeep. They move numbly and don’t even look out the windows. Dean sits rigid in the passenger seat, Sam in back with the dog that shouldn’t be alive and bags of clothes and weapons. Mary hugs Ellen Harvelle fiercely and they shed more tears and make promises Castiel does not intrude upon. She hands Bobby Singer a set of keys and hesitates before embracing him too. There’s something different in the way he holds her, something that asks for forgiveness rather than sharing pain. It makes Castiel think of Dean and the wonder and heartbreak and fear in his eyes when Castiel had arrived so late to save him. Castiel recognizes his own regret.

Rufus will follow with the bodies. They’ll all meet again “in the middle” for the hunter’s funeral. He does not say goodbye or speak to Bobby once Mary is gone.

The Winchesters drive away and Dean does not look back to the house on the hill. He does look at the ocean though, painted by the setting sun so it looks like it’s on fire. The light catches the tear escaping down Dean’s cheek too.

“I can’t even call him, can I?” Dean asks, voice barely audible over the engine and the road.

“No, I’m sorry,” Mary replies without looking at her son. “It’s better this way anyway.”

Dean turns his eyes away from the sea, avoiding his brother’s curious look. “Halloween’s stupid anyway,” he mutters.

Castiel watches as they drive east in the dark. Sam is the only one who asks questions, his voice confused and fearful. Mary answers in clipped excuses and half-truths, the way Dean had earlier in the day when he’d been asked to explain their survival.

Dean doesn’t sleep for one hundred and eight miles.

Castiel slips easily into his dream. Dean is back in the kitchen. The floor still covered with a cousin’s blood. Dean doesn’t hesitate to look up from the crimson mess at Castiel.

“He summoned a demon to our house. Why didn’t you stop him?” Dean demands. Castiel feels as if he has been struck. Ten years before he unknowingly let John Winchester die but Dean and his mother and Sam had been safe, and that was all that mattered. He had known only one thing: to protect those three. They survive now, but this time it’s not a comfort.

“I didn’t know what he intended until it was too late, I only knew…”

“You knew and you left!” Dean screams, looking up at Castiel with furious, inconsolable eye, his face a tempest. “You fucking _left_!”

“I needed a vessel to help you…”

“You could have used me, like before!”

“Dean, no, the risk to you was too great. You wouldn’t… _I_ couldn’t ask that again.” Castiel wants to turn away, but dreams are particular things. No matter where he tries to look, Dean is there.

“That’s bullshit. You could have stopped her and you didn’t!” Dean goes on. “You were late! You…You asshole! They’re dead because of you, just as much as fucking Christian and that demon!” This is not new rage, Castiel realizes, it’s been bubbling inside Dean the whole day, maybe longer. “Did you know? About Sam or…or why…”

“Demons have been coming for Sam his whole life, ever since–”

“Since you woke me up that night.” Dean says it like an accusation and Castiel does not protest. In all these years Dean has never asked about the first time Castiel spoke to him. “I know it was you and I want to know why. Why did you wake me up? If you hadn’t done that…none of this would have…”

“I don’t know,” Castiel admits uneasily.

“Why didn’t you heal grandpa? Angels can do that, right? You healed me from hitting that rock!” Dean pushes on, the change in focus alarming Castiel. “You could have saved him! Or Bill or…”

“It was too late. His soul had already passed and the demon…”

“What the hell took you so long then?”

“I didn’t know how dire-”

“Fuck you, Cas,” Dean whispers, his words and the whole dream shaking with grief and anger. “ _You’re_ the reason all of this happened.”

“Dean…” Castiel can’t argue or protest. Because on some level Dean is right.

“You ruined my life, Cas. You’re a fucking curse. I’m sick of you and demons and ghosts and monsters all this crap screwing up my entire existence!” Dean cries, his voice thundering in the dream. If this was real, Castiel thinks his green eyes would be full of tears. But people don’t cry in dreams, not really. Angels don’t cry either. Or he thought so.

“I’m so sorry, Dean, if there was a way I could change any of it…”

“How about you leave me the fuck alone?”

Castiel has no breath to take, no real fists to clench in shock or pain. He can still recall the feelings from within his vessel. The way the scent of blood sickened him, the way the sight of the bodies and the shine of tears on Dean’s face had been vivid in a completely new way that made him almost stumble and recoil. He remembers other pain, more distant; the suffocating tightness of drowning. He remember the fear and despair when his superiors had pronounced a sentence of exile.

None of that compares to this.

“Is that what you want?” Castiel asks back softly, his grace quivering with regret and hurt.

“Yeah,” Dean snarls. “Go away, Cas, far away from me and my family and fucking _stay_ away.”

Castiel nods. Or, the image of him – younger than usual, less worn – nods. He regards Dean, taking him in for one last long moment before he lets himself fade. “Goodbye, Dean. I’m sorry.”

Castiel freezes in place in the physical world. The Jeep carrying Dean speeds away and Castiel lingers alone on the empty highway, caught in the ether and the dim orange glow of a street light.  Strange, that exile hurts so much more the second time.

 

 

Dean startles awake beside Mary.

“Hey, you okay?” she asks before headlights reflect the new tears on his face. Stupid question. “Bad dream?”

“Yeah…” Dean whispers. “I…I’ll be fine,” he lies. “How much farther?”

Mary bites her lips and tightens her grip on the steering wheel. “A few more hours,” she tells him, as if she knows where the hell they’re going at all.

“No one’s gonna be able to find us?”

Mary’s not even really sure if it’s a question or a hope or a consolation.

“I hope so,” she says.

“Me too.”


	8. Nowhere Man

**Monday, June 3, 2002**

**Wall, South Dakota  (The Badlands)**

 

By Dean’s count he’s been to forty five out of the contiguous forty eight states. Sam says he’s not allowed to count Rhode Island since Dean slept the whole way through in the car but that’s just because Sam is jealous because he’s only at forty one. He didn’t go on that voodoo job that turned into a haunted shrimping boat job so he missed Louisiana, Alabama, Mississippi and Florida. Dean’s just missing New Hampshire, Vermont and Maine because apparently New England is too boring for ghosts or something. Point is he’s seen a lot of America, enough to form some pretty well-researched opinions. One is that if boring is a bad guy deterrent that explains why they spend so much time in fucking South Dakota.

The only place more boring than South Dakota, in Dean’s opinion, is North Dakota. There’s all of two real ‘cities’ in South Dakota and no one living in them is interested in seasoning their food with anything but the barest amount of salt. It’s full of roads so straight they put you to sleep, dry summers and ball-freezing winters. Every other store is a tourist trap selling the same five pieces of _spirit of the buffalo_ art and beadwork from the closest reservation. For a part of the country where America royally fucked over the natives, everyone is pretty obsessed with American history and greatness or something. No one gets the irony, and Dean gets annoyed looks when he mentions it. They can’t help the presidents thing, Dean guesses. It’s literally carved into the state, but that doesn’t excuse the weirdly realistic, life size bronze statutes lining the main drag of Rapid City. It’s overkill. Trying too hard, like everything else.

Tourist traps yell from billboards on the highways all across the state: “Mount Rushmore!” “Bear Country!” “Crystal Caves!” “Crazy Horse!” He’s been to them all, at various times, usually when Sam was bored. Sometimes with Mom; a lot of times without her. Bobby took them to Deadwood once and it was interesting for about 15 minutes before the fake Old West and sad, smoky casinos lost their charm. The entire state hates Sturgis because the annual rally means every hotel in a hundred miles radius of the town is full of middle aged orthopedists who got a Harley for Christmas and fancy themselves bikers for a few days. There are real bikers too, though Dean steers clear of them usually. They remind him of bad decisions made in dank bars to get a ride or bus fare home from hunts in Missouri and New Mexico. Another bit of uncomfortable reality underneath the fakery.

Even their freaking ghosts are stuck in tourist hell.

“How many cups of coffee is that?” Sam asks, not looking up from his book.

Dean takes another lukewarm, bitter sip. “Four. I’m getting the full value of my ten cents, damn it.”

Sam tries not to smile, fails, and shakes his head. “You’re a moron.”

“So I’ve been told,” Dean mutters into the cheap, ceramic cup.

The coffee is what put Wall Drug on the map. Or so the faded plaques describing the history of the drugstore-turned-hive-of-tourist-shops in the middle of nowhere say. Drivers on I-90 start seeing signs advertising ten cent coffee and free iced water miles and miles before hitting the tiny town of Wall and it’s been that way since the Depression. Dean’s read the story about eight times by now.

“You think Jackalopes ever were real?” Dean muses out loud, looking around to where dozens of taxidermy rabbit heads affixed with tiny antlers are mounted on the honey-colored, wooden walls.

“No, Dean,” Sam answers, still not looking up and turning a page in irritation.

“Come on, Chupacabra’s real.”

“No it’s not.”

“Then what took a hunk out of Caleb in Texas last year?”

Sam finally looks up from the yellowing pages of his paperback and sighs. “Probably a Chihuahua. Caleb’s full of shit.”

“You just think that because he had to save your skinny ass in Iowa,” Dean teases, his grin spreading in proportion to Sam’s scowl.

“We said we weren’t gonna talk about that.”

“I think what _you_ said was if I told Mom you were nearly werewolf munch, you would kick my ass,” Dean says, taking another swig of coffee. It tastes better with a bit of smugness. “As if you could.”

“I’m taller than you,” Sam says which shuts Dean right up.

The last two inches that pushed Sam taller than him had come out of nowhere. Dean and Mom had come back from a job in New York of all places and, boom! Little Sammy was a giant who didn’t even fit in the twin bed in their room at Bobby’s. Dean had groused for weeks that it had to have been some sort of spell or illusion, but stopped himself before he said anything that hit too close to the Thing About Sam That No One Talks About. Even after close on a decade of wondering, no one really knew what was different about Dean’s little brother, just that there was _something_.

“Yeah well, I’m smarter,” Dean grumbles.

Sam laughs at that, which is not the reaction Dean was looking for. “Says the guy who thinks Jackalopes are real.”

“I said they _might_ be real.”

“Oh excuse me,” Sam amends and Dean is blushing and annoyed before the next words come out of his brother’s mouth, cause he knows what they're gonna be. “Says the guy who thinks _angels_ and chupacabra are real.”

“Shut up,” Dean orders as Sam laughs at his discomfort.

Sam’s really the only one that still talks about the angel thing, cause for a while Dean had thought he was the only one he could trust with it. That was until Sam was fifteen and had dropped a book in front of Dean that talked about something called a Zanna. ‘Actual imaginary friends, Dean! Though they usually leave when kids get older.’ It had made Dean sick to his stomach. The whole _look, you’re not crazy_ , implication of it and the way Sammy had been so proud of the find, like he was _helping_ Dean. Dean had wanted to bring Mom or Bobby into it, show Sam the stacks of books he’d found in Bobby’s library about angels and vessels and Enochian, but he hadn’t said anything. Because then he’d have to tell the other truths about that night. Instead he’d jumped in the car and hit up a bar and come home the next morning walking funny then helped Sam with trig homework.

“You boys want anything before we close the kitchen?” The waitress who has been tolerating them for three hours asks, raising a brown-penciled eyebrow at Dean.

“Three pieces of pie is my limit,” Dean lies and she gives him a kind smile. Sam casts him a suspicious looks but doesn’t say anything, just goes back to reading _A Game of Thrones_. It’s actually Dean’s book but Sam had finished the one he brought an hour ago so Dean had forked it over. He didn’t mind, since he’d read it before. But it left him with nothing to do but wait for crowds to clear so they could do a real EMF sweep for the supposed ghost. “I’m gonna go get some air.”

“You better not be smoking,” Sam chides and Dean rolls his eyes.

“Come on. You think I want to repeat _that_ ass-reaming?”

“Whatever. Make good choices,” Sam mutters, giving a weak wave.

Dean trudges through the stores full of tchotchkes and tee-shirts, past the carved Indians selling cigars and the five hundredth fake Old West wanted poster, and out into the fresh night air. He follows the wooden sidewalk until he gets to the Impala and smiles.

It would be a real dick move to just take the car and drive for an hour, especially if Sam needed something, but it’s tempting. The only place worth visiting in the state, in Dean’s opinion, is the Badlands and they’re pretty much in them right now, though technically the park is seven or so miles away.

It’s one of the only places that they all went together in the South Dakota and enjoyed on their first trip. They’d all felt hollowed out and raw after Santa Cruz and the empty space in their life where Grandpa used to be still followed them like a phantom. Somehow looking at those vast, desolate vistas had soothed them. Mom had developed a thing about National Parks after that. Dean figured it was a way to balance things out. Like taking them on a job and leaving them bored in a motel or pulling them out of their fourth school in a year was okay if she could enrich their lives with nature or something. Maybe she was right. Thanks to his mom’s guilt complex they’d seen a lot of wonders of the natural world. The flaming forge in Bryce, the Grand Canyon and Crater Lake all ranked high among Dean’s favorites. Maybe just because those were the places where he had watched his mother’s tired eyes soften and she’d whispered about seeing the face of God.

Mom had calmed down with it after a while, and after they started spending longer stretches in the same places. There weren’t many parks close to the Roadhouse. There wasn’t _anything_ close to the Roadhouse or generally in the state of Nebraska pretty much at all. Maybe that was the most boring state, actually. It borders on South Dakota so the boring just bleeds together, Dean thinks.

The Winchesters had still managed to drag Jo and Ellen to a park or two but it hadn’t been the same. The only person they knew who really liked them as much as the Winchesters was Bobby. He and Mom would sometimes drive to the Badlands or Custer together, just the two of them. Come back looking a little less sad and tired. Of course none of them, even Jo with her firecracker attitude and smug smile, ever looked entirely happy or rested. That was just how hunters were. Dean could always tell a hunter from a plain trucker or, heaven forbid, a tourist at the Roadhouse. The hunters always had what Bobby called ‘the look.’ Something in the eyes reflecting back the dark shit they’d seen. Kids like Sam and Jo shouldn’t have that look, but it was there. Dean knew he had it too.

Dean stalks to the back of the Impala and pops the massive trunk. The creak of it in the empty street is comforting, even with the knowledge that if he opened the second panel in the bottom to reveal the cache of weapons, hexbags and other supernatural junk there, he would get arrested. All he needs is his leather jacket. The prairie gets cold fast at night. He shrugs on the coat and closes the trunk with a fond pat then starts walking again, past the bright, beckoning doors of shops and around the back of the building into the cool, late spring night. He smells stale tobacco smoke, mixed with more appetizing aromas from the kitchen fryers. A small part of him regrets that he doesn’t have a cigarette to light up, just to pass the time, but it’s outweighed by his knowledge that his Mom would know instantly what he’d done when they met up later. She always knows.

He strolls past gas stations and a market, towards the wide, dark prairie, and thinks about a time when he didn’t care if he got caught smoking tobacco or anything else. Or stealing. Or fucking around. He’d managed to fit a pretty good bit of delinquency into sixteen and the first half of being seventeen and he had been sure it had flown under his mom’s nose. How was she gonna know he was getting high under the bleachers when she didn’t even know the name of his school cause she was breaking up a coven of witches in Virginia? Of course she had known. Or maybe Sammy had told her after being shot down by Dean one too many times when he asked why he was going out. Sam hated the smell of cigarettes.

He was lucky, really, that he just got busted by Mom and didn’t end up in juvie or worse. Of course he didn’t feel lucky at the time. He remembers staring at the blue honeycomb of the motel room wallpaper while she yelled at him. She’d pulled the ‘what would your father think? What would your grandfather think?’ card, which wasn’t fair. So he’d shot back with ‘good thing they’re dead!’ like any self-respecting punk-ass teen. He thought he’d won when Mom went quiet and didn’t speak for the rest of the night. Then she’d practically thrown him in the car the next day and glared tight-lipped at the road for the five hour drive to Sioux Falls. Through the Badlands.

She’d dropped him on Bobby’s front porch and barely said a word to either of them, even after Dean had made a snide comment about how she was the one who liked to visit Bobby solo. Dean doesn’t really remember if she said much else to him other than to call when he had his shit together. He’d railed for a little while. Maybe a few days, sulking around like the angry seventeen year-old he was. Bobby let him go at it for a while until he told him to meet him in the salvage yard if he was done being a whiny bitch. Dean wasn’t done, but he’d still dragged his sullen ass out into the dusty August heat to find Bobby waiting beside a familiar car.

Dean stops and takes in the view. He’s far enough away from the lights of the town that he can make out the distant shadows of the Black Hills, though the line of the horizon, where one deep blue melts into another, is still hard to make out. He keeps walking, grass shifting soft under his feet, the silence only broken by the occasional chattering of a prairie dog or a distant engine.

Dean had been so mad at his mom (along with everyone and everything else) in those first few weeks after they left California, and one of the reasons had been her willingness to just throw away the Impala, or so he’d thought. That car, a leather jacket, some albums, and faded photos were all he had left of John Winchester. More than that, it had been some place _safe_. The only place. A place that was his and she had ditched it because it was inconvenient. Seeing the car in Bobby’s yard – paint faded and peeling, engine full of rat shit and rust – Dean had teared up. ‘You’re done when you fix her,’ Bobby had declared. Dean had been speechless for a bit then bitched for days as he failed over and over again at the simplest tasks, tools slipping from his hands. Looking back Dean can’t help but be amazed at how patient Bobby was.

It had taken a month, but by the time they were done even Bobby was ready to admit Dean’s Baby was a damn pretty machine. Mom had shown up on Labor Day with Sam, who took a place in the passenger seat for the inaugural ride. Dean had pretended not to see the look between Mom and Bobby in the rearview mirror. The next day he’d started senior year at Sioux Falls High School, and when he came back after school, Bobby had given him the keys.

Dean smiles at the memory, a bit sad. Well, maybe not sad. Regretful? Was there a word for the feeling you get remembering how hopeful you were once, looking back with a mix of shame at your idiocy and anger at how you disappointed yourself? He was gonna take that car and leave everything in his rearview the second he turned eighteen. That had been the deal. Once he was an adult he was allowed to decide who he wanted to be. That had been bullshit though. He had a mom that had lost her whole family save him and Sam, how was he supposed to leave her? Or his little brother who’s number one on hell’s most wanted list? He understood what Ellen told him once, about how so few can leave the life. It’s impossible when you know what’s out there. No matter how many miles you put it behind you, it’s there.

At least he’d had the illusion of choice. Unlike Sam.

Dean finally stops, shaking himself out of memories and looking up at the massive expanse of the night. He breathes in cool, clean air that smells of dry earth and dew, his eyes tracing the smudged lines of the Milky Way across the sky. Sam knows all the constellations. Tired to teach Dean a dozen times but it never stuck. Dean didn’t think the stars needed anything added to them, just liked them the way they were.  

He lies down in the grass, knitting his fingers behind his head and stares. ‘An ocean of stars;’ that’s what he’s heard people call a night like this. But it’s so different from the ocean. It’s still and steady. And quiet.

Cas talked once about being able to hear the stars. Dean goes back and forth between wondering what weird part of his mind that gem came from and wondering what they sound like. It’s the sort of thing he can’t say out loud. There are a lot of those. The second time he lost his virginity in the back of the Impala. The college pamphlets tucked in the trunk below boxes of shotgun shells. Sam moving a china cabinet with his mind. The loneliness that sometimes weighs on his chest like a stone. Cas. Cas Cas Cas.

There are still times when he looks at the sky and considers praying. Times when he wants to beg for explanations and, who knows, validation of some sort. Proof he wasn’t crazy. Isn’t crazy. His pride never really lets him do it though. So he just stares up into the night sky and pretends he’s not remembering and lets himself drift into the empty silence of the Badlands.

 

“You smell like a buffalo,” Sam tells Dean when he returns inside. Sam’s moved to a bench in the hall outside the now mostly closed shops.

“Still better than you after a burrito,” Dean mutters. “You think we’re clear enough to do this?”

At that Sam actually bothers to look up from his book at Dean. “Are you actually asking my opinion on a hunt-related thing?”

“Not if you’re gonna bitch about it,” Dean bristles. Sam shuts his book with a dramatic sigh, serving to remind Dean that, despite his height, his brother is still technically a teenager.

“I’ve seen three people in the last twenty minutes. If we’re discreet we can do the sweep without attracting attention.”

“Let’s go then,” Dean says with a grin.

“Okay, but if you start humming the _Ghostbusters_ song _again_ , we’re splitting up,” Sam grumbles as Dean pulls out his homemade EMF meter from the deep pocket of his jacket.

“You’re no fun.”

The sweep goes pretty easily and they only have to pretend to be confused tourists once to avoid the attention of a janitor. Of course there’s not a single unusual spike in the EMF.

“Shoulda known this place was too boring to be haunted,” Dean sighs.

“That doesn’t explain the three different accounts of the same guy walking through walls,” Sam argues. “Maybe it’s something else…”

“Miniature mass hysteria?” Dean offers and Sam shrugs. “We’ll keep an eye out. But nothing else to do tonight. Let’s motor.”

“You gonna let me drive?” Sam asks as they head for the car.

“Not on your life.”

Sam scowls and rolls his eyes. Sam’s current lack of a car is just another of his long list of grievances at the moment, somewhere ahead of the reason for it – Mom’s old Jeep had finally given out after a year of Sam making the hour commute from Sioux Falls to South Dakota State University – and behind the fact he was stuck at SDSU at all.

“Your turn to make the call,” Dean says.

“Oh, come on,” Sam whines but grudgingly pulls his Nokia out of his pocket and hits the first speed dial. Dean never fails to chuckle at how small the tiny cell looks in Sam’s huge mitts.

“Hey, at least she gave up the pager, okay?”

“Hey, Mom,” Dean hears Sam say into the phone as he drops into the driver’s seat, taking a moment to enjoy the familiar smell of leather and the texture of the steering wheel under his palms. It’s only a minute before the creak of the passenger door signals an end to what was probably another tense call.

“We going East or South?”

“South,” Sam replies dejectedly.

“Aw, come on, you’ll get to see your girlfriend soon enough.”

“She’s _not_ my girlfriend!”

Dean laughs as the engine roars to life and his brother scowls at him. It’s any easy target and Dean’s happy to keep shooting. “That why you won’t bring her over?”

“Maybe I don’t want Ringo trying to take a hunk out of her like the last friend I tried to introduce you guys to.”

“That kid creeped me out anyway. And the furball is like seventeen, give him a break."

“You’d think he’d have slowed down by now,” Sam muses. “Or that his diet would have killed him.”

“I still can’t get over the bag of Skittles,” Dean mutters as they turn onto the main drag that will take them to I-90. After that they have ninety miles or so of pure boring until they hang a right for Nebraska and the Roadhouse, if they want to go fast. “Wanna take highway 240?”

“Through the park?” Sam’s eyebrows knit together under his floppy bangs. He can tell Dean’s mind is already made up. “You’re worse than Mom.”

“It’ll get us there later, might be able to delay interrogation ’till morning,” Dean offers. Sam gives an easy shrug and Dean grins in triumph.

An hour later Sam doesn’t complain when Dean pulls over and shuts off the car. There’s a herd of Buffalo sleeping in the valley beside the road, snuffling and grunting in the night. But Sam and Dean are there for the stars. The hood in warm when they climb on.

“Mars is really bright tonight, see?” Sam whispers, nudging Dean with a shoulder.

“Yeah,” Dean murmurs, looking a completely different direction. “Yeah it is.”

 

**Outside Antioch, Nebraska**

**The Roadhouse**

 

“You can’t pretend they’re salad if you don’t eat the celery.”

Mary looks up from her plate to Ellen giving her a kind glare from where she looms over Mary’s regular table in the back of the Roadhouse.

“How about you throw a few pickled onions on the plate instead?” Mary says, smiling as she picks up another hot wing.

“That jar has been under the bar for three owners,” Ellen chuckles. “I’ve seen you fight off a specter with a broken rib but I don’t think you could survive that.”

“Maybe just another beer then,” Mary replies. “I can call it bread.”

Mary looks around the Roadhouse as Ellen heads back to the bar. There’s been the usual traffic of tired truckers and a couple of hunters that Mary recognizes but can’t summon the energy to remember the names of. The only person left in the bar now beside her is a kid in the corner booth taking down his third plate of nachos with extra peppers. Mary likes the limited options at the Roadhouse (she developed a secret love for bar food in the late nineties given what a luxury it was to get it when she was traveling with two teenagers) but this guy is devouring the plate like he hasn’t tasted anything in days. The fact the guy is rocking a mullet for the ages doesn’t help make him less weird. Mary’s still watching when Ellen returns with the beer.

“That’s right, you haven’t graced us with your presence for a few months, huh?” Ellen remarks, following Mary’s gaze, and Mary raises an eyebrow. “New…hire.”

“He works for you?”  

Ellen hasn’t hired help for years. She gets hunters passing through to assist with maintenance (when Dean isn’t there for it) and she and Jo manage the bar and waiting tables pretty well, backed up by Martin in the kitchen. Poor guy started out a hunter but got a bit too broken to stay on the road. Mary’s the one who sent him Ellen’s way and he’s been making the best wings in Nebraska since. “Another basket case? A bit young.”

“He’s…something. Found us all on his own though.”

“How?” Mary senses a story in Ellen’s tone. There’s no time for it though, because the dog hiding under the table perks up and seconds later they hear the rumble of the Impala.

“Kids are home,” Ellen smiles. “I’ll go grab Jo.”

The entire back half of Ringo’s body is wagging, earning a reluctant smile from Ellen as she heads to the back. The bowl of bar nuts the dog was snacking on under the table is of course empty and clatters on the floor as he dances in anticipation of seeing his humans. Mary wishes she could be that excited, rather than preemptively bracing herself for another round of painfully valid complaints from a nineteen year-old giant. Still, when her boys walk through the door, she can’t help but smile – half in relief to see them in one piece and half in amazement at the men they’ve become.

“You’re late,” Mary chides warmly, pulling Dean in for a hug.

“Took the scenic route,” Dean says, a slight twinkle in his eyes.

“It was his idea,” Sam adds. He takes his turn for a hug as Ringo weasels between their legs. “Yeah, I missed you too shorty, jeez,” Sam tells the dog, bending to pet him.

“How was Oregon?” Dean asks. “Please tell me it was Bigfoot.”

“It was a moron tree-hugger in a gorilla costume,” Mary sighs. “Which I guess is better than a wendigo, but I nearly shot him anyway, just on principle.”

“Dang, I was really hoping on that one,” Dean says. “Wall Drug was a bust too.”

“Which Dean could have done on his own, by the way,” Sam says and Mary braces herself.  “If you-”

“Sam, we’re all tired, let’s not argue,” Mary cuts him off. “Bobby is working on the car situation.”

“I was gonna say if you would trust me to be anywhere alone,” Sam fires back, undeterred.

“And Dean–”

“Is still wearing that dumb jacket,” Jo’s voice cuts Sam off and Mary could hug the kid for her timing. “You trying out for a _Grease_ revival?”

“Hey, the ladies like it,” Dean says spreading his arms wide as he grins. Jo and Ellen give identical eyerolls before hugging the boys.

“Uh, Ellen, should I be clearin’ out?”

They all turn to look at where nacho-mullet guy is standing awkwardly by the bar, watching the reunion.

“Hell no, these are the folks I wanted to introduce you to,” Ellen says. “Everyone this is Ash.”

Sam does a much better job than Dean of concealing his bemusement as the smaller man saunters over to the group, wearing his cut-off denim vest like it’s a medal of honor. Dean’s eyes are wide as Ash gives him a vigorous handshake.

“You’re Dean, right? The short one?” Ash says and Dean looks like he swallowed a lemon. “And Sam and Mary? Heard a lot about you.”

“Oh, uh, cool?” Dean replies, looking between Mary and Jo for some guidance they’re not going to give. “Hope Ellen didn’t make us sound too bad.”

Ash doesn’t looking away from Sam as he shakes his hand as well. “Nah, she likes you but I was talkin’ ’bout your FBI files.”

“Our _what_?” Sam yelps first as Mary and Dean both go pale.

“There ain’t much good stuff in there on you boys,” Ash answers in an easy drawl before turning to Mary. “You, on the other hand, got a pretty good rep. Last I counted you’re a top suspect in seven cold cases.”

“I’m what?” There are so many alarms going off in Mary’s head that she can barely hear the answer.

“Yeah, you are one badass lady,” Ash says giving Mary an approving once-over. “It’s cool though, they ain’t got much concrete. Only one pic too, from back in the seventies and….whoa. Looks like a whole different person.”

“So _you_ were at the FBI?” Sam asks incredulously.

“Just in their computers, man,” Ash says, his voice a reedy chuckle. “The whole universe is at my fingertips if I just tickle the right keys.”

“Ash here is a bit of computer wiz,” Ellen translates with not a small amount of pride in her voice. “Like I said, he found us.”

“He found the Roadhouse…online?” Mary asks. Sam still looks dubious but Dean’s face is lighting up.

“Nah, man, I found _the truth_ online; the really real shit no one else was seein’,” Ash opines and for the first time he leans close enough for Mary to catch a very distinctive skunky smell off his tattered clothes. “No one at school believed me, so I had to find the people that knew.”

“Surprised you didn’t find the matrix,” Sam mutters and Dean gives him a swift elbow to the rib.

“He found some hunters back east and tagged along until he ended up here,” Ellen says.

“Yeah, no monster hunting classes at MIT,” Jo adds with a laugh and every Winchester eye goes wide.

“MIT?” Sam parrots.

“He’s a genius,” Ellen says. “You boys hungry?”

“The nachos are _excelente_ ,” Ash suggests, head bobbing.

“Yeah, uh, burger if you got one,” Dean says as he moves towards Ash. “Okay so, how many different searches do you have to do and of what to find hunters?” he asks, pulling the man towards the bar.

“Once I found the lore, usually just one, if I could cross-ref with the police databases,” Ash answers, beaming in pride and taking a stool next to Dean. “And the feds of course.”

“Holy crap, so did you…”

Mary turns away, shaking her head as the two fall down the rabbit hole of tech speak. She can barely get an email to open but Dean is obsessed with the stuff.

“Great, another nerd,” Sam sighs, more to himself than to the women giving him looks. “I’ll take a burger too, thanks, Ellen,” Sam adds, slouching and looking down to where Ringo has fallen asleep at his feet, a log of contentment.

“Have a seat,” Ellen tells him. “Jo, help me out.”

Sam follows Mary back to her booth, heaving another sigh as he sits and Mary pushes the remaining hot wings towards him. “You want some beer?” she asks, trying to break the mood. It works because Sam’s face finally breaks into a smile.

“How about a whiskey?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

Sam takes a small swig of beer. She had hoped not being a hardass about things like alcohol or girls would make up for…well, a lot of things. Or, Bobby had thought so and she’d finally agreed with him after seeing what happened when she tried to reign Dean in. She’s not sure if she’s lucky or doomed because Sam isn’t really interested in that sort of thing. He’d much rather have the freedoms she can’t give him.

“So, how long do you think they’ll be geeking out for?” Sam asks, nodding towards where Dean and Ash are engrossed in conversation at the bar.

“Come on, he needs a friend. Though he’s probably gonna get on Bobby about getting GSL again.”

“ _D_ SL, mom. And he has a point there.”

“Isn’t that gonna make it easy for the FBI to find us or something?” She’s only half joking but Sam’s massive eye roll is worth it.

“Better the FBI than demons, right?” Sam jokes back, voice soft and resigned.

“Exactly. You think a tinfoil hat will go with the grey in my hair?” Sam laughs at that one and steals the celery from her plate. “You know I’m paranoid because I love you, right?’

Sam chews slowly, avoiding her eyes, but he nods. There are times when she sees John so clearly in her boys. In the way Sam goes hard with stubborn anger when he gears up for a fight, the curiosity in Dean’s eyes at a new project or his kindness to strangers; Sam’s reluctant indulgence of her.

“I know, Mom, but-” Sam stops himself, as tired of the fight as she is. He casts another look over to Ash and Dean. “Apparently even an MIT education lands your ass hunting so, I’ll shut up about…stuff for now.”

Mary gives him a grateful, weak smile. There are a hundred things she could say, things she’s already said so many times. About safety, about all the demonic plans and plots they don’t know; questions about what her son is capable of, about how long she can convince him and herself she has any control over anything. But there’s increasingly little point in saying them, because she doesn’t have the answers and more and more Sam doesn’t want to listen.

“So, how’s your girlfriend?” Mary asks, pushing away the darker thoughts to give her son a wicked smile.

His face reddens instantly and he nearly chokes on celery. “She’s not my girlfriend!”

 

 

Dean wishes that Jo would stop bringing him drinks. It annoying and it’s kind of obvious she just wants to listen in on him and Ash. It’s particularly pointless since Ash feels comfortable reaching over the bar to grab stuff. Employee’s prerogative, Dean guesses. He considers doing the same – grabbing a bottle of something for shots maybe – but he wants to keep his head relatively clear for this conversation cause Ash is actually sort of awesome. Maybe that’s why Jo’s protective or maybe she’s just curious. Last time she refilled Dean’s water she made a predictable comment about technobabble nerd freaks, so who knows.

 “So how many hunts have you found?” Dean asks as Ash finishes crushing a beer can against his head in a seriously impressive move.

“Uh…sixteen?” he answers, voice rough and relaxed. “Only nine since I been here though. Ellen’s doled ’em out to a few contacts.”

“Yeah I think she sent a few of them to Bobby to get onto the grapevine,” Dean says. “I knew the job in Texas was too obscure. You ever go on one yourself?”

“Are you kidding me?” Ash balks. “You know how many uglies would like to take a hunk out of this fine piece of ass? No, sir, I am happy as the man behind the curtain, thank you very much.”

“Aw come on. The open road, kickin’ some ass, killin’ some bad guys,” Dean says, his voice wistful. “It ain’t bad.”

“I have been on that open road, man and I know it ain’t always a friendly place,” Ash answers, more reserved than Dean’s seen him so far. It takes Dean a second to realize he’s holding his breath, thinking too hard about what Ash means. “I like what I got here, no Yellow Brick Road for me.”

“Well, uh, offer’s open.” Dean says and Ash gives him a nod. It would be the perfect moment for Jo to butt in again but she’s finally joined Mom and Sam at the Winchester Memorial Booth across the room. “So, uh, you ever look into any weird stuff?”

Ash raises an eyebrow. “Weirder than demons and vampires?”

Dean’s face heats for a different reason now and he shakes his head. “I mean like…stuff even hunters think is bull. Aliens and shit.”

“Nah, man, aliens are _real_. But the thing is they ain’t aliens they’re…” Ash leans so close Dean that the front flair of his mullet almost brushes Dean’s face. “ _Fairies_.” 

“Fairies? Like…Tinkerbell?”

Ash nods slowly, knowingly glancing around like someone might be listening. “Shiny, sparkly motherfuckers.”

Dean just nods and smiles. Okay, maybe Ash is a bit crazy, but so is Martin in the kitchen and, well, pretty much everyone Dean knows, on some level. He’s certainly not the picture of rational thought when it comes to some things. “What about angels?”

“Angels?” Ash echoes, drawing back and looking at Dean with the same dubiousness Dean was just giving him. “Like Roma Downey shit?”

“Like…miracles or people hearing heavenly voices or stuff,” Dean hedges.

“Nah man, never looked into it. I can run a few sweeps if that’s your thing, man.” Dean gives him a half smile and Ash grins back.

“Dean! Your burger is getting cold, nerd!” Sam yells from across the bar.

“Sorry, family dinner,” Dean tells Ash with a shrug.

“It’s cool man, I ain’t goin' nowhere,” Ash answers then leans into Dean. “I got _Dark Side of the Moon_ , a sweet mattress and some 100% organic refreshment back in my office if you’re up for it later.”

Dean swallows and tries to keep his face neutral under his family’s gaze. “Nah, man I…I don’t do any of that while the fam is around. Gotta set an example for the lil' brother.”

“Don’t shit where you eat, eh?” Ash replies effortlessly and at least that’s a relief. He claps Dean on the shoulder. “Offer’s open if you change your mind.”

“Thanks, man,” Dean says with a nod then heads to join Sam, Jo and his mother.

 

**∞**

 

The  Winchesters stick around the Roadhouse for a few days. They shoot cans out in the woods with Jo (who of course makes everyone but Mom look like amateurs), eat too much greasy food and play too much pool (which Dean wins) and darts (where Sam excels). Sam finishes _A Game of Thrones_ , Ash loans him _A Brief History of Time_ and Dean and his Mom both raid Ellen’s stash of Michael Crichton. It’s nice to catch up with the Harvelles, even though Jo and Sam snipe at each other worse than Sam and Dean on account of being ridiculous teenagers. Dean’s not quite sure if Jo has a crush or is legitimately annoyed with Sam for his complaints (which continue) about cars and college and hating hunting in general. At one point Jo tries to bring Dean into it, noting that Dean never was a whiny brat about this crap and he never even bothered with college. That’s the one night Dean really considers checking on Ash’s office to see if ‘Dr. Badass’ is in, but the look of regret on Mom’s face is enough to stop him. They spend an afternoon knocking around the empty ghost town of Antioch, mostly reminiscing about acting like idiots there as kids, when there wasn’t quite as much to worry about.

Ash finds a possible hunt in Wisconsin after a few days; a series of murders and animal mutilations over several years with hearts missing all around the little town of Gratsburg. It’s enough to get their attention and Sioux Falls is at least in the same direction anyway. They all hug and get orders to not stay away so long next time and Ash even hooks Dean up with a few Skynyrd cassettes for the ride.

It’s a nice visit, but none of it feels quite right. Not like it used to. There’s too much tension and things unsaid and thoughts about what was or could have been. Dean’s more happy than usual to put the Roadhouse in the Impala’s rearview.

“We can make Bobby’s by lunch if we gun it,” Dean says to Sam after they have a few miles under the tires.

“Bet he didn’t go to the store since we left, so that’ll be delicious,” Sam grumbles.

“We’ll stop at McDonald’s or something on the way. Mom’s probably already on the grocery thing,” Dean answers with a shrug and moves to turn up the opening chords of “Simple Man.”

“How come you never call it home?” Sam asks and Dean’s hand freezes.

“Huh?”

“You always call it Bobby’s, not home,” Sam explains. “We’ve pretty much lived there for like, six years.”

“Yeah but…” Dean falters, trying to find the words. “It’s _a_ home, yeah, but it’s not ours.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Home’s for families,” Dean argues, which he knows is bullshit.

“Bobby’s family, come on,” Sam retorts, rightly. “He’s not Dad or – or Grandpa, but he’s still family.” Dean hears the way Sam’s voice catches, hears the old echo of guilt and secrets.

“Yeah, I know but…” He’s shit at words. “Home’s supposed to be where you’re safe and, I dunno…there’s no safe for us.”

“There might be if we –”

“Don’t say quit. We can’t.”

“Yes we can, Dean,” Sam argues, insistent and petulant. “It’s been nine years, nothing is coming for us. Mom’s just –”

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean says. “We’ll be done when it’s dead. Not before then.”

No after, either. But he doesn’t say that. He turns his eyes back to the road and cranks the music.

 

**Friday, June 7, 2002**

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

 

Mary always feels weird in grocery stores. She doesn’t that there’s no clear line of sight in the aisle. She doesn’t like the florescent lights and the way they make everyone look a bit too washed out. She doesn’t like remembering the little market in Santa Cruz where Dean would push the cart with Sam in it and make sure to go down every aisle asking what was what and if they could have this or that for dinner. At least in the towns where they end up on hunts they don’t buy much and no one knows them or stares at the woman in an army surplus jacket and tight braid who looks like she’s buying supplies to take back to some freaky survivalist camp like they do here.

“Hey, Mary, how’s it going?” Mary turns and lets out a small sigh of relief to see Jody Mills and her son standing at the end of the pasta and bread aisle.

“Hey, Deputy. I’m good, uh, just got back from…” Mary is still terrible at lying to normal folk. “Work out of town. Hi, Owen, looks like you grew since I last saw you.”

“Like a weed,” Jody smiles. “Up two shoes sizes in as many months.”

“Just wait ‘till the day he’s taller than you.”

“Or the day he’s taller than everyone in your kid's case,” Jody says. “How the older one doing? Staying out of trouble?”

“As far as I know,” Mary sighs. She’ll be forever grateful to Jody for the times she chose to send Dean home with a stern warning rather than bust him. Of course the crap he got up to in Sioux Falls wasn’t much compared with other spots – just underage drinking, pot and one petty theft. Jody got Bobby for twice as much a few years before and also let most of it slide.

“He still taking classes down at Killian?” Mary tries not to wince at that. Dean hadn’t even finished half a semester of classes at the community college, and somehow that had led to another fight between her and Sam.

“No, he’s taking a break, helping out me and Bobby,” she answers through a tight smile. It’s technically true.

“Well, good luck,” Jody says with a smile. “Sean always said he was a bright student when he tried.”

Mary nods.  “Good to see you, Jody.” She gives a wave as Jody heads to a different aisle then throws a few boxes of spaghetti and sauce in the cart.

The rest of the trip is a rush, but Ringo only manages to get into one bag on the way home so that’s a win. (Nothing will surpass the lime jello pudding incident of ’99). She still laughs thinking about the epic fit the dog threw the first time they tried to leave the dog at Bobby’s and hunt alone. No one had expected something that small to be able to destroy an entire door so quickly. Since then they’d learned that, though Ringo liked Bobby well enough, he would not tolerate life without a Winchester nearby. Mary didn’t mind, actually. Maybe it was the big ears or some special animal sense but the mutt always knew before she did when something was going down and he’d saved all their asses a few times. She wonders sometimes when he’ll start to show his years, because it hasn’t happened yet; as evidenced by the way he practically flies out of the jeep when they pull up to Bobby’s. No Impala outside means the boys are taking another detour probably, or stopped for a long lunch. Not a surprise.

Bobby’s at his desk when Mary walks in and barely moves up even when Ringo noses his feet. The bottle beside him is still unopened, which is a good sign.

“Hope you’re in the mood for Italian,” Mary says, dumping two bags on the counters.

“As long as you don’t try to get me to drink wine again,” Bobby grumbles, not looking up from the pile of papers in front of him.

“Well, I don’t want to offend your delicate palette.” Mary nearly trips over a pile of books she swears Dean cleaned up before they left as she makes her way through the living room to Bobby. She gives him a peck on the cheek and pulls off his cap. “Maybe I’ll try to get you to stop wearing hats inside instead.”

“You’re stubborn but you ain’t delusional,” Bobby replies with a grudging smile, snaking an arm around her waist for a quick hug.

“Can’t give up hope.”

Bobby gives a grunt and lets go, turning back to the pile of research. Mary glances at the books and raises an eyebrow.

“Nice reading list. Someone got a demon you haven’t told me about?”

“You think I’m that dumb? Jim Murphy sent some old stuff out of Maryland, just…checking things out. Weekend project.” Mary shakes her head smiles. There’s a consistency to Bobby, to the way he works and works and remains steady and strong no matter what else is happening. A port in the storm.  “Boys on their way?”

“Should be here any minute, we left the Roadhouse at the same time.”

Sure enough Ringo perks up a few minutes later, just as Mary finishes putting away the groceries in the predictably empty cupboards. Seeing her boys walk into the kitchen, safe and in one piece is a different kind of relief than seeing them at the Roadhouse. Mary pulls them into familiar hugs after they drop their bags and feels the tension that’s always coiled around her chest loosen just a bit.

“Hey, Bobby,” Sam calls first and gets the usual grunt and wave.

“Did you hear back from Caleb on that weird tooth thing? Where was it, Arkansas?” Dean asks, heading straight for the fridge. Mary slaps his hand away from the beer and he opts for a Coke, tossing one to Sam as well.

“Yup and you can add the truth about tooth fairy to the list of things to ruin your childhood,” Bobby answers, shaking his head. “Believe me you do _not_ want to see those pictures.”

Sam makes an appalled face and Dean snickers. “Don’t worry, Sammy, still nothing on the Easter bunny.”

“Sounds like Caleb had better luck than us,” Mary says.

“Depends on how you define luck,” Bobby replies. “You idjits got any new leads I should know about?”

They fall into a discussion of the possible case in Wisconsin, which somehow turns into Dean and Sam arguing about _An American Werewolf in London_ versus _Evil Dead_ while they cook dinner. The meal is pretty standard and afterward Sam tries to be subtle about sneaking out of the room to make a call. Mary does wish Sam would just bring the girl around, but she can see why he wouldn’t want to. It’s not like they’d be able to have much normal conversation. Plus, Mary wouldn’t be able to resist using actual silver cutlery with dinner and over-salting the food.

Dean disappears too, probably to put some of what he learned from Ash to use on the computer upstairs. Better that than him heading out to a bar or moping out in the salvage yard, which are other standard options. Bobby goes back to his desk with a beer and Mary heads upstairs, passing by the room where she can hear Credence Clear Water Revival playing and the soft tap of a keyboard before she reaches the big bedroom. It’s changed quite a bit since the first time she visited, like most of the house has. Different paint, different sheets and the bed moved to a different wall. More pictures. More books. It’s not quite enough to cover up the memories but that doesn’t bother anyone too much anymore. Like pretty much everything in their lives their an layer of guilt and loss underneath everything that they just try to ignore. She doesn’t even bother turning on the light before she gets ready for bed and she has no plans to wait up while Bobby loses himself in research. She’s tired, the way she always is, but at least she can relax and rest a bit and pretend that this is indeed the port in the storm, not the calm before it.

 

**Saturday June 8, 2002**

 

Dean wakes up to a tiny, digital ring in his ear. He pretty much falls out of bed, ignoring Sam’s grunt on annotance as he pushes his shaggy head under a pillow, and stumbles to the cell phone ringing on the desk by the computer where it’s plugged in to charge. It takes him a few smashes on the tiny keys before he gets the annoying little jingle to stop and puts the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Dean. Dean-o. My man,” the voice on the line responds.

“Ash?” Dean asks and Sam groans from across the room.

“The one and only.”

“Dude it’s…” Dean squints at the clock. “It’s fucking five AM.”

“Is it? Time zones man, sorry…” Dean doesn’t even bother telling the guy they’re in the same time zone. He doubts Ash even knows what time it is or possibly what country he’s in.

“Why are you calling me at five AM, Ash?” Dean asks, rubbing his eyes.

“Oh, yeah, I found something on your thing.”

“You gonna be more specific for me?” Dean demands after a beat, wondering if this is just a seriously crappy dream.

“Your…” Ash lowers his voice. “Your _angel_ thing.”

Suddenly Dean’s completely awake. “What?”

“Yeah, found a guy that says he talks to ’em. But it ain’t the standard stuff and he’s had a few miracles, healings and the like. Thought you might be interested.”

Dean’s heart sinks a bit. He’s investigated a few of the crazies over the years, on his own, of course. He’s never found much beyond unsolved mystery type crap and one that turned out to be a ghost.

“That’s awfully flimsy, man,” Dean sighs, glancing at where Sam is now pretending to sleep.

“Not when you factor in the demonic omens in the area the last few weeks,” Ash replies and Dean can hear the smug grin in his voice.

“Where?”

“Well, that’s the bad news…he’s sort of in a loony bin...”

A few minutes later Dean has a badly scrawled address, a name, and a brother glaring at him from a too small bed.

“Ash got you _another_ hunt?”

“Sort of…he found a guy in Illinois that talks to…” Dean takes a deep breath. “To angels, okay?” He braces himself for Sam’s laughter or derision.

“Weird.”

“Well, yeah, sorta the point,” Dean mutters.

“No, I mean…” Sam give a small smile. “I had a dream about your angel.”

Dean’s eyes go wide. “Excuse me?”

“I dunno, man. It was fuzzy. There was lots yelling and shooting and smoke, then we were in a car with this…guy. And you said he was an angel.”

“So?”

“So I think you should go,” Sam tells him and Dean’s face goes slack.

“You…what?”

“I think you should go. I’ll cover the Wisconsin case with Mom, you take this,” Sam says with a shrug. “Seriously; if Ash found it, it might be legit and you should get on it.”

“Um. Okay.” Dean needs a few more cups of coffee before this starts making sense, but he’s not going to argue right now if Sam encouraging him for once. “I’ll…uh…get packing.”

The plan for Wisconsin (decided over dinner last night) is to leave tomorrow. The lunar cycle won’t be right for a week if it’s werewolves so there’s no rush. But if there’s demons circling whoever’s been touched by an angel, _that_ clock is ticking. Dean just mostly just repacks the bag from the last job, switching out a few clean clothes. All the weapons he’s going to need are still stuck in the back of the Impala. Only one obstacle to getting on the road.

“Hey, Dean…” Dean knows that tone. That ‘I’m gonna ask you for something I know I shouldn’t’ tone. Sam mastered it when he was three and discovered peanut butter banana sandwiches.

“What do you want?”

“Could you maybe, on your way out of town, drop me by…”

“You wanna sneak off to visit your girlfriend?” Dean laughs.

“Please, Dean. Mom’ll want to meet her if I ask her and…”

“So borrow a car!” Dean shoots back, mostly just for fun.

“Nothing I borrow is gonna be as cool as rolling up in the Impala and you know that.” Dean gives Sam an impressed look. Kid’s not wrong. “Come on, I’ll run interference for you with Mom on the Illinois thing and cover your ass, okay?”

“Do I get to meet her?” Dean watches his little brother’s face go red. “Come on, if you want me to get you to your not-girlfriend’s place, don’t I deserve to meet her?”

“Fine, I’ll…fine,” Sam relents and Dean gives a whoop.

“Get your ass in gear then.”

 

 

Mary thinks she spends too much of her life staring at coffee makers, waiting. At least this one is a better than the old monstrosity Bobby had, which produced a horrible sludge one could barely call coffee. The nice, sleek machine that is currently the focus of her attention had been a Christmas present for all of them really. She was so happy when Sam got past his “that much coffee is bad for you phase” when he was fourteen. She and Bobby had been reduced to sneaking the stuff the way Dean used to with cigarettes.

“Staring don’t make it brew faster,” Bobby sighs from the kitchen door.

“It’s something to do. Did I wake you?”

“Don’t worry about it.” A sound not unlike a stampede comes from the staircase and Bobby raises an eyebrow under the brim of his hat. “Sounds like the boys are up too.”

“That’s weird,” Mary is nearly bowled over as Sam and Dean make it to the kitchen, grabbing grocery store muffins and travel mugs. “What on earth…”

“Sam’s gonna explain!” Dean calls through a mouthful of muffin as he heads out the back door, carrying his duffle. Mary waits, wondering if it’s possible for Sam too look any more sheepish as he pours coffee.

“Ash just called Dean about another hunt,” Sam say. “Some guy hearing voices and weird stuff happening at his place in Indiana, or something. Sounds like a haunting.”

“A _haunting_ has got you running out the door?” Bobby asks, voice dripping with skepticism.

“It sounded sort of urgent and…well, we have to wait on the werewolf thing anyway so Dean and I are gonna take care of it?” It comes out like a question but Sam finally meets her eyes. He inherited the sad puppy look from his father too.

“You’re volunteering to take on a hunt with Dean. And you’re sure you can do this on your own?” Mary asks carefully and Sam rolls his eyes.

“We’re sure,” he scoffs. “Learned from the best, right?”

“Which one of us you suckin’ up to?” Bobby says but his face has softened and Sam smiles.

Mary sighs and gives a nod.

“Thanks,” Sam grins and pulls Bobby into a surprisingly tight hug, nearly sloshing him with coffee.

“Don’t go getting all sentimental on me, ya idjit, it was her call,” Bobby grumbles but returns the hug.

“Then thanks for…everything else,” Sam mutters then turns and envelops Mary in a hug twice as intense. “I promise I’ll be okay, Mom. I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart,” Mary replies, a bit dazed by the sudden affection.

Sam pulls away, his eye bright but excited. “Don’t worry if we don’t call tonight, okay, cell reception is crap in that area,” Sam adds as he heads out the door, then gives one more soft smile. “Bye.”

Mary sighs and looks at the now mostly empty coffee pot as the door slams. “That was…abrupt.”

“You want me to tag along to Wisconsin with ya?” Bobby asks as he pulls out the coffee grounds to start another pot. Mary smiles despite herself at the offer. It’s been a while since she’s been on a job with Bobby.

“Don’t you have to man the phones or something?”

“Well, I’m always ready to make different arrangements if you need me,” Bobby says. Coming from him it’s practically a Valentine.

“I’ll consider it, we’ve got a few days.”

“Few days to our self you mean,” Bobby replies with a rather genuine smile. “Could be worse.”

“Why yes it could be,” Mary smiles back.

 

**∞**

 

Sam’s girlfriend (or whatever the hell she is) lives halfway between Sioux Falls and SDSU in Coleman. Dean only remembers the hamlet because he was disappointed as a teen to find out it’s _not_ where the coolers come from. Her place turns out to be a bungalow on a quiet side street that’s seen better days.

“So, you need any tips?” Dean asks smugly as they pull up in front.

“About what?” Sam scoffs.

“About how to woo her or whatever,” Dean says and gets the laugh from Sam he was as hoping for. “Listen when she talks. Tell her that her hair is nice. Always open the door.”

“Dude, she’s not some waitress you’re picking up.”

“Hey, I also pick up bartenders,” Dean replies, waggling his eyebrows. “You got condoms?”

“Dean!” Sam yelps, turning scarlet as Dean cackles.

“Hope that’s a yes,” Dean teases back as they exit the car. He’s actually a bit jealous of whatever the thing Sam has with this chick is, even if it’s just friendship (which it totally isn’t). Hook-ups are nice, sure but seeing someone past a fun weekend sounds nice too. He hasn’t had that since high school. He wonders if he’ll ever feel as nervous as Sam looks introducing someone to his family. Hell, he’d probably be worse.

The door opens before Sam can knock and a petite girl with mousey brown hair, a heart-shaped face and wide eyes pounces to hug Sam before noticing Dean’s presence.

“Oh, uh, hi?” she says, glancing at Sam who raises his eyebrows in some sort of silent communication. “Wait. Let me guess: you’re Dean.”

“Guilty,” Dean says. “Sorry you’re figuring out you got the ugly brother.”

“Sam’s told me a lot about you.”

“Can’t say he’s returned the favor,” Dean grins and gets a glare. “A shy one, our Sammy.”

“Eh, I still like him.” An awkward silence stretches out in between the three of them as they exchange nervous glances.

“Well, I gotta hit the road,” Dean finally says, his voice a little unsteady.

“Yeah, uh, have a good…trip,” Sam replies, swallowing and avoiding Dean’s gaze. Yup. The kid is _so_ here to get laid. A fierce hug from Sam cuts off the taunt waiting on Dean’s tongue. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

Dean squints but hugs Sam back, no idea where this is coming from. It’s not like he hasn’t done solo jobs before and this one is probably nothing. “You know I will,” he tells his brother’s shoulder, giving him a squeeze then pulling back. “You make good choices, okay?” Sam smiles and nods as Dean backs away down the path back to the Impala and waves. “Nice to meet you, Ava!”

“You too,” Ava calls back. “And don’t worry, I’ll take care of him,” she adds with a smile.

Dean takes his place in the Impala and gives one more wave and smile before revving the engine and pulling away. He watches Sam and Ava shrink in the rearview mirror, notes how she pulls him into an embrace that lasts until he can’t see them anymore. No kiss though. It almost looked like she was…comforting him?

Dean doesn’t quite know what to think, so he decides not to. He’s got a full tank and eight hours of driving alone ahead of him, he’ll have lots of time to think later. For now he rolls down the window and cranks up “Rumors” and sets his sights on the guy that maybe talks to angels: James Novak of Pontiac, Illinois.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Wall Drug](http://www.walldrug.com/) is a real and very strange place. It probably shows but I've spent some time in South Dakota, and again, all the references are to real places. Antioch. Nebraska is a deserted town that looks very neat on google maps and it seemed as good a locale for the Roadhouse as any.


	9. All the Lonely People

**Pontiac, Illinois**

 

“Hey, is there a doctor in the house?” T

he nurse looks up at Dean from her paperwork with pursed lips and a murderous expression. “I mean the – the pink hair and Pinkerton Psychiatric and…” “I’m also halfway through a double shift so, can I help you with something specific?”

Dean gulps. “I’m here to visit a friend,” he answers, trying to be charming, though Nurse Ratchett still looks annoyed with him. “James Novak?”

“You’re here to visit Jimmy?” Her expression shifts to something interested and protective. “Are you on his list?”

“Um, I…”

“Name?” the nurse asks, pulling out a large file and flipping through.

“Uh, Dean but I might not be in there. We haven’t-”

“Dean Winchester?”

Dean blinks and nods because this gig just went from maybe nothing to definitely something. “Yeah, that’s me...”

“Well, we’re almost at the end of visiting hours, but he has you as priority so I’ll take you back,” the nurse says with a put upon sigh.

“That’s awfully kind of you,” Dean mutters. She has him leave his phone, keys and coat in a little bin before allowing him to follow her though an airlock-style pair of doors. “This a secure wing or something?”

“It’s just for safety, mostly so no one wanders off,” the nurse answers. She swipes a key card and leading them into a quiet, sterile hall that reeks of antiseptic. “Jimmy’s never been a runner though, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Are you allowed to tell me that?” If Dean wasn’t so completely freaked out it would be flirting.

The nurse shrugs. “Half of us don’t know why he’s even here. He’s a pretty chill guy.”

They come to a plain wooden door with a safety-glass window where the nurse gives a brief knock before stepping in. Dean lingers in the hall, listening to the murmured voices, not really sure about the etiquette here or if the guy is gonna see him and kick him out. “Okay, he’s all yours,” the nurse tells him, peeking back out into the hall. “Door stays open while you’re inside.”

“Whatever you –” the cute retort dies on Dean’s tongue as he enters the room and sees Jimmy Novak’s face.

_Son of a bitch._

The nurse says something on her way out, Dean has no idea what, and the man Dean is staring at in absolute, stupid fucking _awe_ gives her a nod and a kind smile then looks back at Dean. His face is younger, less heavy with weariness and regret, and better shaved, but Dean would know it anywhere.

“Dean,” the other man says and the voice is enough to jar Dean out of his panic or existential crisis or whatever. It’s not Cas’s voice but it’s Cas’s face. 

“How the fuck do you know me?” Dean tries to keep his voice low and curb the urge to throttle the guy for immediate answers. Probably wouldn’t go over so well with the orderlies.

“This is the first time we’ve met formally,” not-Cas replies, voice friendly but hesitant. “But Castiel has told me quite a bit about you.”

Dean feels sick, like all his blood and organs are suddenly in the wrong places and he briefly entertains the thought that maybe they should find a padded room for him too. Or maybe he’s dreaming? That’d make sense. Except he’s not naked and he remembers how he got here and he every time he’s dreamed about Cas since he told him to never come back, he knew instantly it was just a shadow, not the real thing. This…this is real. Dean finds himself stumbling into a plain, plastic chair across from where Jimmy sits on a rumpled bed. Breathing is not easy.

“Castiel,” Dean echoes. He never told anyone the full name. He’d been too paranoid about someone summoning Cas and hurting him. “Cas isn’t…”

“Please, don’t say he isn’t real,” Jimmy asks gently. “You’re sort of the one person in the world right now that knows he is.”

“I wasn’t…I mean, I know…” Dean very much does not know. Anything. “I’ve just been trying to convince myself of that for a long time,” Dean confesses. Jimmy looks at him with tender, earnest eyes, almost the same as the blue Dean dreamed for a decade but not quite. “What the hell is going on, man?”

“When I was twenty years old, an angel spoke to me,” Jimmy tells him, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “He told me some people were in grave danger, and that he needed my help to save them.” Jimmy takes a breath, very clearly still waiting for Dean to call him crazy, but Dean’s mind is racing other directions.

“I need a date.” He doesn’t know if he’s hoping Jimmy is wrong or right.

“October 28, 1993,” Jimmy answers and Dean’s glad he’s sitting down. “Hard to forget the day your life turned upside down.”

“Not just yours,” Dean whispers back. “So that was you.”

“It took him a while to convince me,” Jimmy says, regret in his tone. “I was working late on a paper on _The_ _Canterbury Tales_ ,” he adds, like he’s talking about another life. Which he probably is.

“I always wondered what took him so fucking long.” It’s weird to talk about it. To think back on those few dozen minutes where everything went wrong. “Two people died while he was _convincing_ you.”

Jimmy looks down and Dean instantly regrets the harshness of his tone. “I know. While he was…I saw parts of it. And he talked about it after.”

“So, you’re a vessel?” Dean asks, getting to the point. Dean’s done a lot of reading in ten years about angels and vessels and the kind of consent they need. He’s come to the uncomfortable conclusion that the fact Cas didn’t explode him when he saved Dean from the sea means Dean’s a vessel himself, but not Cas’s. That’s the guy he’s looking at. “You’re Castiel’s vessel.”

Jimmy nods again and meets Dean’s eyes. “It’s in my genetic code apparently.”

“Yeah. Bloodline thing. Not news. So Cas…Castiel rode you to the rescue, then what?” This is the part Dean doesn’t know, that he’s wondered about since he basically told Cas to fuck off and never heard from him again. Just like Dean thought he wanted.

“It was a blur. But then he returned me home…well, close to it. Problem was home was a few hundred miles from the college I’d been at an hour before,” Jimmy says, voice relaxed but expression dark. “That was hard to explain. But my father, he was a man of faith, I thought he’d understand.”

“Let me guess? He didn’t.”

Jimmy winces. “I tried to be quiet about it, I did, but…” Jimmy swallows then gives a tired smile. “But then he came back.”

“He possessed you again?” Dean asks in horror. “He seemed to have a problem with-”

“No, no! He just…talked to me. He was lonely. He didn’t have anyone else to connect with I guess; no heavenly hive mind or whatever.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Cas. And lemme guess, you thought it was a good idea to tell people you had an open line to an angel?”

“I grew up believing in the gospel and God’s purpose for me,” Jimmy tells him, and for the first time there’s a bit of anger, maybe bitterness in his words. “Even when my mother passed away, the church was there for me and my father, telling us it was alright, that God cared and was present and had a plan. And then when I really got to touch the divine; when I had _proof_ , they all thought I was crazy.”

“Did _you_ think you were crazy?”

“Never,” Jimmy says with a shake of his head. “Castiel gave me proof but I didn’t need it. My faith was enough and I wanted to share this miracle with people I loved. At first most people just brushed me off. But when they figured out I wasn’t going to take it back they started trying to convince me I was crazy. And well…nothing drives you crazy faster. They pushed me, I pushed back, things got…bad. For all of us.” Dean has no idea what to say. He’s not sure if he’s angry or sad or just trying to find his bearings as the hits keep coming. “But my dad and my girlfriend, Amelia, they were the ones that…intervened. I was depressed, a bit paranoid maybe. They got me in here.”

“Super supportive,” Dean says before he can think better of it and Jimmy gives a dry laugh.

“They loved me; still do. They just wanted what they thought was best,” Jimmy sighs and Dean stares at him, not comprehending. “Amelia did dump me though. Can’t blame her.”

“Why not just lie? Keep him a secret?”

“Why would I lie about something amazing?” Jimmy asks back, his face peaceful and resigned. “I know my purpose. My life has been touched by the divine. That’s a miracle.”

“Your life’s been royally screwed over by the divine just like mine,” Dean spits out.

“I can see how it would seem that way,” Jimmy says, and Dean wants to slap the too familiar face. He sighs, maybe they guy’s brain is fried from an angel yelling at him for ten years.

“Wait you said you talk to him, like while you were awake?” Dean asks, remembering how massively unpleasant the few times Cas had tried to chat with him in the waking world had been.

“Yes. My impression is that not many people, even others capable of becoming vessels, can hear an angel’s true voice.” Dean stares at the guy, still thrown by how easily he talks about something that’s ruined his life, how at peace he seems. Maybe they’re giving him the good drugs, who knows. Dean wonders if they have any to spare.

“So, you’re his special someone or whatever, is that why he, uh, looked like you when I…” Dean hesitates, not sure how much Jimmy knows. “When I knew him.”

“He wondered that too. But he’s not sure, actually,” Jimmy says then glances around, as if the bare white walls and empty air might have answers. Hell, for Jimmy they might. The thought makes Dean feel like there’s suddenly no oxygen in the room.

“Wait, wait is he – are you – is he _here_?”

A grin splits Jimmy’s face and Dean has no idea what’s so funny. “No, he’s off somewhere. It’s not like he just hangs around me. I guess he likes to stretch his wings.” Jimmy says it like it’s obvious. Because why would an angel hang out in the nuthouse? But Dean got the impression that Cas stuck around him for years. “I think he’ll come if I pray, if you–”

“No!” Dean startles himself with how loud he says it. “Uh, no,” he repeats at a more polite volume. “I am not ready for that conversation.”

“When he’s gone I think he goes looking for you,” Jimmy says, soft and sad.

“What, like I’m hard to find?” Dean scoffs.

“Extremely, apparently. But you’re very important to him.”

That makes Dean’s eyes prickle and his cheeks heat. This is not what he came here for. “He spill why he got kicked out?” Dean asks, pushing a hell of a lot of thoughts and feelings down.

“You don’t know?” Jimmy’s brow knits in confusion.

Dean shifts uneasily. “I got a theory but, he was never really clear about it. All I know is-”

“He intervened in human affairs against orders.”

And there it is.

“The night my dad died,” Dean whispers. “He woke me up.” In a way, Dean’s always known, even when he was too young to understand. Cas got tangled up with him somehow and for some reason never hated Dean for the fact it got him fucking _exiled_. Idiot. “Why though?”

“He said he just…knew he had to.” Jimmy gives a lopsided smile. “I think it was God.”

“God?” Dean echoes incredulously. He’s spent so much of his life with angels on the brain, but oddly never worried too much about the big G.

“Yes. He says most angels don’t receive revelation directly from God, but what else could it have been? That night he _knew_ there was one thing he had to do, even if it went against everything, and that was to save you.”

“Save me? That thing came for Sam, not me,” Dean argues, old anger bubbling back up. “If Cas hadn’t _intervened_ the thing might not have even attacked. And why would _God_ care about us?”

“He works in –”

“Do _not_ fucking say it,” Dean barks and Jimmy’s mouth snaps shut. “Are you gonna tell him I was here?”

“There’s not a lot else to talk about,” Jimmy smirks.

“Yeah I know but...” Dean sighs. “I want to talk to him, I do but…I don’t know what I’d say.”

“He wouldn’t talk to you uninvited, I don’t think, if that makes you feel better,” Jimmy offers. “But he might look in on you.”

“Well, that’s creepy.”

“He won’t do much else as long as he still thinks you hate him.”

Another sentence and another punch to the gut. Dean braces his elbows on his knees and stares down at his scuffed boots. “I don’t hate him,” he whispers. “Never did. Of all the people in this room, I don’t think I’m the one that should.” Jimmy gives Dean a quizzical look. “He took away your life so he could have someone to talk to. Man, that’s fucked up. At least I’m free.”

“I don’t resent Castiel, Dean,” Jimmy say without hesitation. “Like I said, I have faith in my purpose. It will come.”

Dean considers saying something snide or bitter, like maybe Jimmy _is_ nuts, but it’s not really his place to take the look of peace off the shmuck’s face. Still, the guy didn’t deserve this. Of course it wouldn’t have happened if Dean hadn’t told Cas to beat it. Just add that to the pile of ruined lives on Dean’s conscience.

A distant chime sounds from the hallway and Jimmy straightens up just as the nurse appears at the door. “Sorry, guys. Visiting hours are over.”

“Shit,” Dean breathes out. Not that there’s much more to say, but Dean’s not sure if he can just get up and walk out after all of this.

“Sorry, rules are rules,” the nurse says. “But you can always come back tomorrow.”

“Yeah, uh, sure,” Dean stammers, standing and not sure if he should shake Jimmy’s hand or hug him or what. He settles for a little wave-salute thing and Jimmy gives him a smile in return.

“It was good to see you, Dean, again and for the first time,” Jimmy says with a nod. “I do hope you think about…patching things up.”

“Yeah, I've...got a lot to think about,” Dean says and starts to move then pauses to grope in his pockets. “Hey, uh, you can call me if…if you want to talk about…things.” He finally finds an old receipt and starts searching for a pen. The nurse sighs and hands him one of hers so he can scrawl his number for Jimmy.

“Thank you, Dean. I may take you up on that. Have a good night.”

“Yeah, you too,” Dean replies and finally brings himself to turn away. He follows the nurse back through the hall and double-double doors, nose wrinkling at a whiff of rotten stink from somewhere, maybe a patient room. He does not want to think about what it could be.

The nurse hands him his coat, phone and keys from where they were stashed behind the desk. “Sexy ride, by the way,” she tells him with a smile much more welcoming than before.

“Yeah, she’s a beauty,” Dean grins back, still too distracted to flirt, even though she’s cute in an ‘could chew Dean up and spit him out without breaking a sweat’ kind of way.

“Too bad my shift goes late,” she says, apparently undeterred by the fact Dean’s head is in the clouds. “You parking her anywhere close?”

“Uh, don’t know yet actually.”

“Well, the Fiesta on the 23 isn’t too bad,” she tells him.

“Thanks,” Dean mutters, as they exchange final smiles. He feels like he floats back out of the door and across the street to the Impala. It’s barely past eight, but the June night is chillier than he expected, the air prickling with the threat of a storm. Still, it’s late enough that the bars are open and he’s pretty sure he needs to find one.

 

**Interstate 80, Wyoming**

 

“I still think cutting over on 25 would have been faster,” Ava mutters from the passenger seat, squinting at the map in the fading twilight. The folds are still crisp and sharp. Today is the first time it’s ever been opened, Sam realizes.

“That would have taken us too close to…people,” Sam replies, pressing harder on the accelerator and checking the mirror. He really doesn’t want to get away from his family just to get busted for speeding and get sent home.

“You didn’t have to avoid the entire state of Nebraska just cause your family has friends there, Sam,” Ava says.

“You don’t know my family.”

“I take it that means you still want to drive through the night?” she asks, very clearly not excited about the idea.

“I just…we need to get as much distance as we can,” Sam evades. “You can sleep if you want.”

“Sam, they’re not going to find you. And seriously, there’s _nothing_ in this entire freaking state.” Sam’s pretty sure she’s been waiting a few hundred or so miles to say it. “It’s not like your lo-jacked or, I dunno, your mom has a crystal ball.”

Sam gives a bitter laugh at that, shaking his head. He’s seen Dean and Bobby work up a locator spell that tracked a lost kid to a specific town. He’s got hexbags sewn into his jacket, wads of cash for gas and food, no phone, and he’s still worried. “We’ll rest at the next motel I promise.”

Ava shakes her head. “It’s your escape plan.”

“Yeah, well, not just mine,” Sam murmurs, glancing at the only person that had been willing to listen to him when he’d talked so vaguely about the family he loved but had to get away from. Ava never pushed, never asked more from Sam than he was willing to give and he was grateful for that.

“Hey. I’m just a girl with a car, you’re the one with a full ride to Stanford,” Ava says.

“You also have an address and are willing to let me drive that car across the country and help me get set up and-”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m amazing, go on.” Ava gives a shy grin and Sam relaxes a bit. “Good thing you’re cute.”

Sam’s instinct is to hide from the compliment, but he doesn’t quite feel like he has to with Ava. Not that there’s anywhere to hide in the beat up Corolla anyway. “Thanks,” he mutters.

“You’re really special, Sam,” Ava goes on. “And I’m gonna do whatever it takes to get you where you need to be.”

 

**Pontiac, Illinois**

 

“You know it’s hard to get a buzz just staring at it.”

Dean looks up at the bartender, who in turn is looking at the untouched beer in front of Dean with a quirked eyebrow. The guy doesn’t look angry at Dean for loitering though. Maybe just curious.

“I’m savoring,” Dean tries to joke, but it comes out sounding as empty and tired as he feels.

“Trying to find the secrets of the universe in the scratches on my bar?” the bartender asks, leaning on his elbows so that the muscles in his arms bulge again the pinstripe grey of his button up. His face isn’t quite as nice as his arms, Dean thinks, but it’s not bad either. Blonde hair, a soft beard and an open expression, eyes inviting Dean to open up about his troubles.

“Something like that,” Dean mutters and takes a sip of lukewarm beer just so he doesn’t have to say more. It would be hysterical to start talking, really. Tell the cute bartender he’s having a crisis because, well, he knew this angel as a kid who kinda saved his life a bunch, but also kinda royally screwed things up, and he just happened to find said angel’s vessel today, and that poor schmo got an even worse deal than Dean cause people thought he was nuts for telling the damn truth and locked him up. Oh, and Dean can’t decide if he wants to talk to the angel again cause what the hell would he say and punching him would probably not go well and neither would apologizing for saying stupid things as an angry hurt idiot teenager. So, Dean’s just sitting here, processing the fact that in a world where fucking everything but bigfoot turns out to be real, it’s believing in angels that gets you called crazy even when they’re real too but are also kind of assholes sometimes. Yeah, not talking seems like a better plan.

“Well, looks like a storm’s rolling in, no better time to hunker down and think those great thoughts,” the other man says after Dean’s too-long pause. As if on cue, a distant roll of thunder sounds.

“Not quite the season for these sort of storms, is it?” Dean asks, because he actually doesn’t know.

“Weather’s been weird for weeks, all over the county,” the bartender replies. “Someone pissed off the storm gods.”

“Yeah. Either that or–” Dean stops, because he was going to say something smartass about demons that would only be funny to him but it turns out he’s an idiots. “Shit…” he breathes, ice running down his spine.

He throws cash on the bar and flat out runs back to the car, replaying everything he didn’t think about in the last few hours because of Jimmy. Storms and the smell of sulfur around a nurse who talked about the car he parked out of view and made sure she knew where Dean was sleeping.

“Shit shit _shit._ ”

If he weren’t so pissed off at himself and freaked the fuck out, the break-neck ride back to the hospital would be funny to Dean, in all its clichés. Pounding rain, lightning, speeding through reds: the whole nine. He’s halfway back to the hospital (still no plan figured out beyond 'drive fast then yell a lot') when his damn cell phone starts ringing. He nearly swerves off the road fumbling for the thing in his pockets and hitting the answer button, and doesn’t even look at the number, since only a few people have it.

“Bit busy right now,” Dean snaps, rounding a corner too fast with one hand on the wheel.

“Dean?” Jimmy’s voice is quiet and scared but unmistakable.

“Jimmy! What the hell? Are you okay? Listen you’ve gotta get some place…”

“I’m not okay, there’s…something is going on,” Jimmy answers quickly. “The nurse, she started asking me questions. About Castiel and you. I think she’s-”

“Possessed,” Dean finishes, his heart rising to his throat. “She’s possessed by a demon. You have to-”

“Dean, this is a locked ward, I can’t get out. I tried to play dumb and walk away. I got to one of the offices, but I don’t think I have long before she finds me.”

“Where is it? I’m already on my way,” Dean says, speeding up even more.

“That’s not the only problem.” Dean can hear the genuine panic in the man’s voice. “I can’t reach Castiel.”

“ _What_?”

“I’ve been, calling – praying to him and nothing is happening,” Jimmy whispers frantically.

“Well, maybe he’s just being an asshole,” Dean tries to joke but the words come out brittle and dark.

“He wouldn’t do that, I know you think he’s-”

“No, I know,” Dean replies, wincing as he takes another turn and his Baby fishtails in the rain. “The demon, she might have warded the place. Made it angel-proof.” Mom hadn’t put much stock in angelic warding the first time they’d read about in one of Bobby’s old tomes, years ago. She was much more interested in staying off demonic radar, but they’d added the extra sigils into the spells painted on their cars and the house anyway. Dean had felt like a bit of an asshole for it, but at the time he didn’t want to be found.

“Dean I don’t know what to do,” Jimmy says as lightning flashes and, fuck, he sounds like he’s praying to Dean now. Man, this guy is bad at picking people to rely on.

“Where _exactly_ are you?” Dean accelerates to thirty miles over the speed limit. He’s only half a mile away now, thank…whoever.

“One of the counselor’s offices on the first floor,” Jimmy answers shakily. “Uh, the west wide of the building.”

“First floor is good! Is there a window or anything?”

“Yes, but it won’t open.”

“Then see if it will break! Use a chair or something big. Just get out of –”

“Oh no,” Jimmy whispers then Dean hears a thump and what has to be the bang of the phone receiver hitting a desk or the floor.

“Jimmy?” Dean calls. Clattering and what could be dampened footsteps sound over the line and then a loud crash. “Jimmy!”

“Well, hey there, cuckoo’s nest,” comes a muffled female voice. Dean recognizes the timbre of the nurse’s voice from earlier, but the relaxed, yet gleeful tone brings back much, much older memories.

“No. No no no,” Dean chants. A truck pulls out in front of him and Dean slams the brakes, barely avoiding a collision just as he hears a cry of pain over the phone and a crash that sounds too much like a human body being thrown into something. “Damnit! Jimmy!” A low chuckle comes across the line, much clearer and Dean braces himself, gunning the engine and pulling out around the truck, lanes be damned.

“Now, I thought we told you visiting hours were over, Dean-o,” the demon mocks and Dean has to stop himself from crushing the phone in rage. “Jimmy’s got to do some therapy. Time to really get inside his head.”

“Leave him the fuck alone, you evil bitch!” Dean shouts, flooring it as the hospital finally comes in sight.

“The grown-ups are going to talk now, Dean. Buh bye.” Dean hears a wail of pain then the line goes dead.

“ _Son of a bitch_ ,” Dean yells, hurling the phone to the floorboards. He tries to breathe, to not panic. It doesn’t work very well, thanks to the fact he has no plan and nothing that’s gonna be any use against a fucking demon. He screeches to a halt in front of the hospital and jumps out of the car anyway, rushing to the trunk and grabbing a gun. Dean spins, blinking the pouring rain out of his eyes and trying to remember where the sun set to figure out where the goddamn west side of the building is. Other side from the entrance. Fucking _great_.

Dean runs, skirting the perimeter of the red brick building and he swears loudly when he comes to a fence. He manages to jump it in one go, landing with loud squelch. He curses the shrubs blocking the windows, unable to tell which one might be the office Jimmy called from until he sees one illuminated window in the distance. As he speeds closer he can see a crack blooming in the glass. Dean skids to a stop, trying to get a look inside without giving himself away too soon. A muffled howl of pain makes Dean’s stomach lurch. He keeps moving though, bracing himself as he peeks over the edge of the window. He’s still not ready for what he sees.

Jimmy is pinned against a wall, bleeding from long gashes across his chest and arms. The demon is pressed right next to him, holding a kitchen knife. Her hands are covered in red. She whispers in Jimmy’s ear and he shakes his head, looking to the ceiling and muttering. Dean realizes, sickly, that Jimmy must be praying.

“Damnit…” Dean breathes through clenched teeth. “Hope you’re watching this, Cas, you fucking asshole.” He just has to get Jimmy out and away, get him to the Impala and drive, and they’ll be okay. He can do that. He can do that. He _has_ to be able to do that.

Dean draws his gun, aiming away from Jimmy through the glass, and fires. The glass shatters on the second shot and the demon spins to sneer at Dean, eyes black and hideous. The gunshots still ring in Dean’s ears as an alarm begins to sound in the hospital and lights flare in the other windows. He only has a second to consider how unworried the demon looks before a hand grabs Dean from behind and he’s thrown away from building and onto the wet, muddy grass.

“You think my sister came alone, hunter?” Dean’s assailant growls, advancing on him through the rain. The demon is wearing the body of a huge, dark-skinned orderly that could have easily kicked Dean’s ass seven ways to Sunday _without_ a hellfire boost.

“Still don’t get how you assholes have families,” Dean grunts, aiming his gun at the second demon.

“Oh, you’ll meet our father soon enough,” demon number two says with a smile and a flick of his wrist he sends Dean’s gun flying from his hand. “He’s actually very eager to meet you again, Dean.”

“He in that big a rush to get his ass kicked?” Dean mocks, scrambling backward and trying to get a look at the room where the other demon has Jimmy. The alarm bells are still blaring and Dean can see the nurse’s pink hair as she looks around in panic. Dean’s focus is wrenched back to the other demon as he picks Dean up by the throat, lifting him up and all the way off the ground.

“What was that?” The demon smirks as Dean bats uselessly at his arm

“Drop him, Tom! Orders are he lives,” the other demon yells, her voice much closer than Dean anticipated.

Dean is immediately flung to the ground, gasping for air. He tries to focus through the pain and panic at where the first demon stands by her brother, gripping a barely conscious Jimmy by the collar of his torn, blood-covered scrubs. Dean manages to rise onto his elbows in the muck. “Tom? Really? Man, you guys have lame names.”

“You’d think you’d’ve come up with a new joke in ten years,” the female demon says with a sneer. He knew it.

“Meg.”

“Heya, Dean-o,” Meg grins back, ignoring Jimmy’s groan from beside her. “My stars, you grew up pretty.”

“Let him go.” Dean heaves himself towards Meg and Jimmy and gets a vicious kick in the stomach from Tom for his trouble.

“‘Don’t kill’ doesn’t mean we can’t hurt you,” Tom says as Dean doubles over in the mud. “It’s actually great you stopped by, means we've got both Winchester boys right where we want them.”

“What?” Dean croaks, tasting blood in his mouth.

“But we came for angel heart over here, and we ain’t gonna ditch him just cause you said so,” Tom goes on, flicking a finger and hurling Dean back with an invisible force. Fucking demons.

“He doesn’t know anything,” Dean shouts, looking up through the rain to see Tom grab Jimmy by an arm from Meg. He holds him up like a rag doll. A flash of lightning lets Dean can see what awful shape the poor guy is in. And that’s just what he can see. Imagining the damage Meg inflicted that Dean can’t see makes Dean shudder with guilty rage.  “ _Please_. Let him go, everything he knows he told me, just-”

“That true, Jimbo?” Meg asks, speaking into his ear before licking a smear of blood from his face and sliding an arm around Jimmy’s waist, one hand digging _into_ a gaping wound on his side. “Did you spill all those tasty heavenly secrets to sweet cheeks over there?”

Dean watches as Jimmy’s eyes flit open just as lightning flashes above them, thunder roaring at the same time. Jimmy’s eyes are tired but clear as they meet Dean’s, calm in a way that makes Dean catch his breath. The air buzzes with electricity as the rain pounds down, and Jimmy stares at Dean for what feels like forever. Another burst of lightning and Jimmy gives a small smile, and a nod.

“Yes,” Jimmy says, voice thick with pain but completely clear.

For the second time that day, Dean feels his heart stop.

“Well then, no point in–” Meg doesn’t get out another word before _light_ streams into Jimmy from above, like lightning made liquid, blue-white and blinding. The demons shield their eyes as the force of it throws them back but Dean can’t look away as a brightness he hasn’t seen for nine years fills Jimmy Novak’s body, glowing from his eyes and mouth and pores like it can barely be contained before settling and fading, every injury healed and each drop of blood gone. There is stillness for a moment, as the new arrival flexes his hands curiously then looks up at Dean with eyes that are at last the right shade of blue. In a final flash of lightning, Dean sees the vague shadow of wings.

“Fucking took you long enough, Cas,” Dean whispers though he can’t stop himself from smiling, just a bit.

“Not you again,” Meg growls, rising and charging at the angel. Cas raises a hand and throws her back easily and advances on her with his back to Dean.

Dean doesn’t get a chance to gloat before he’s hauled roughly up from the ground by Tom, huge hands back around his neck.

“Touch her and I kill him!” Tom yells as Cas spins towards them. The demon squeezes Dean’s throat for emphasis.

Maybe it’s the sudden oxygen deprivation, or a slight concussion, or maybe the fact that _holy shit this is actually Cas_ , but the look of quiet rage on Castiel’s face as he glowers at Tom makes Dean laugh.

“Wrong move, dick,” Dean gurgles as Cas fucking _disappears_ from in front of them. Dean doesn’t have to wait to find out where he went because Tom drops him the instant Cas grabs him from behind. Cas clamps one hand on the demon’s neck and one on his head, palm glowing with the brightness of a small sun. Dean staggers back in awe as the light fills the demon from the inside, burning and searing as the thing howls in agony before being snuffed out. The body of the orderly collapses lifeless to the ground, mouth frozen in a soundless scream and eyes left as nothing but burnt-out holes. “Holy fuck,” Dean breathes.

“No,” Meg snarls, her face contorted in fury and eyes black as she pulls out the knife she used on Jimmy. Cas raises his hand, palm beginning to glow again and Meg shakes her head. “Not this time, Clarence.”

“Dean!” Cas yells and it takes a second for Dean to make the connection between Meg’s movement, the flash of metal, and the sudden pinch in his abdomen. Looking down to see a knife sticking out of your stomach is really not something Dean would recommend to anyone. He falls to his knees, looking up in time to see Cas rush to him as Meg laughs and throws her head back. Black smoke streams from the nurse’s mouth in a screeching torrent as Cas stops Dean’s fall.

“She’s getting away,” Dean says weakly. “She…” Finally the pain hits, icy and real and breathtaking. “Oh, fuck…”

“Don’t move. We need to get somewhere safe,” Cas intones in the deep voice Dean’s always known. He unceremoniously wrenches the knife out of the wound–which can’t be safe, right?– and pulls Dean tight against him. Maybe he’s still in shock, but Dean feels oddly not scared for a guy with blood gushing out of his gut.

“My car,” Dean grunts, biting his lip against the pain. He’s not quite sure if it’s bad enough for him to lose consciousness or be delirious, but it seems like the wind whips up and they’re in the back of the Impala instantly. “What the…”

“Hold still,” Cas commands, maneuvering Dean so he’s lying on the back seat and Cas is looming over him, knees braced on either side of his hips.

“Blood is not the fluid I usually worry about staining the seats in this position,” Dean says, somewhat hysterically. Cas gives him an annoyed squint before holding his hand over Dean’s wound. Is he glowing again? Dean is about to make another bad joke when his pain – _all_ his pain – vanishes and warm relief spreads from where Cas touches him. Dean isn’t surprised to look down to see the wound (and the blood) have disappeared. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“Not yet, hopefully,” Cas grumbles and Dean raises an eyebrow. “They could come back any minute with reinforcements.” Cas glances out the window but gives no indication he intends to get off of Dean.

Maybe this is a dream, Dean thinks. A really vivid, fucked-up dream; because how else does he go from brooding in a bar to stabbed to straddled by an angel in less than an hour? The rain is still pouring outside and both of them are still wet and the only thing Dean can think of is if they’re gonna start fogging up the windows. Heck, maybe that will make it harder for the demons to see them. Right. Demons. Hellfire and death; still an imminent threat. Shit.

“We should get clear of here, pronto.” Cas gives a wary nod but stays put. “Gonna need your help here, Cas,” Dean prompts, glaring at where Cas has him pinned but not daring to move any part of his body because that’s a whole other level of weird this night just does not need.

“Of course.”

This time Dean _knows_ he didn’t pass out. The sudden, dizzying rush of movement and whooshing air lasts only for a second but the change in light and sudden stop to the rain is unmistakable.

“What the…” a wave of delayed nausea hits Dean and he screws his eyes shut for a moment only to open them to Cas’s face three inches from him. “Jesus!”

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine!” Dean snaps. “Can you maybe give me some space here?!”

“Of course.” Cas _finally_ moves off Dean, who scrambles ungracefully from under the angel and out of the car onto a deserted road he’s never seen. Dean’s mouth hangs slack in wonder as he looks up to see clear sky. The only noise is the buzz of cicadas. “We should be safer here,” Cas says, exiting the car as well. He looks incredibly underdressed in his hospital pajamas and no shoes, but it doesn’t seem to trouble him. “They can’t track you.”

“Where the hell is here?”

“Thirty four miles outside of Huntsville, Alabama.”

“Alabama?” Dean yelps. At least that explains the humidity. “You zapped us to _Alabama_?”

“It was as far as I could go with such a heavy load,” Cas explains as Dean stares him down. Dean might be mistaken due to the massive freak out he’s in the middle of but the guy – or whatever he is, technically – looks a bit sick.

“Are you…okay?” Dean asks, taking a step towards Cas just as the angel stumbles and braces himself on the Impala.

“It would appear I’m not,” Cas murmurs and falls. Dean rushes to him, helping him slide down the side of the car so he’s leaning against the wheel.

“You just took out a _demon_ , and now you can’t stand? What the hell?”

Cas gives him a withering look. “I can’t stand _because_ I just took out a demon, Dean,” he replies sourly, flexing his hands in front of him like he’s not sure how they work. Which, come to think of it, he might not. “That and ‘zapping,’” Cas uses air quotes for that word which would sort of be adorable if Dean wasn’t pissed and confused and overwhelmed. “My grace was already depleted from being away from heaven for so long. I…overextended myself.”

“Yeah, looks like. So what do I do?”

“Do?” Cas echoes, sending Dean a familiar squint.

“As in how do I help you, moron? Rest? Water? I got a power bar somewhere…”

Cas is looking at Dean like he’s lost his mind. “You don’t need to trouble yourself, I’ll be fine,” he says firmly and attempts to push himself up only to falter and sink back to the ground. “I will be fine very soon,” he amends as Dean scowls at him. “You can feel free to leave me.”

“Leave you?” Dean kneels all the way down so his face is level with Cas’s.

“You made it clear I was unwanted in your life,” Cas tells him haltingly, and it punches the air out of Dean. “Which I understand. The second I return people start dying and-”

“Cas, shut up.” Cas’s eyes go wide. “I said a lot of stupid crap last time I saw you, but I shouldn’t have ditched you like that.” Dean is unsure of a lot of things about Cas, but wishing he had handled the last time they spoke differently isn’t one of them.

“You were right to,” Cas argues, voice firm and even rougher than Dean remembers. “I failed you, Dean. I should have never…”

“I said shut up.” Cas’s mouth does just that, his eyes wary. “Yeah, you fucked up, maybe. But…dude, you just save my life, like, twice. Again. And you took out one of the bastards that _actually_ has fucked up my existence. I’m still…conflicted or whatever about our history but there’s no changing the past, right?” Cas gives him a skeptical, tired look but says nothing. “We’re in kind of a situation here. Those demons said something about Sam, okay? And I damn well want to finally figure out what they want with him and me, so…I need your help.” Cas just stares at Dean, like he’s examining him from inside out. “You can talk now, Cas.”

“I don’t know how much help I can be,” Cas says at last, sighing a bit dramatically. “But if you want me, I’ll try.”

Dean grins and lets out a breathy chuckle. “Man, that is the best news I have heard all day.”

Cas doesn’t give the smile Dean was hoping for. Not that he ever was much of a smiler. He just keeps staring at Dean, looking queasy and deflated. Dean moves so that he’s sitting beside Cas, leaning on Baby’s back door and staring right back at the angel. Cas doesn’t seem to mind.

“So you’re really here.”

“It would appear so,” Cas grumbles.

“Wow,” Dean murmurs.

It’s finally hitting him; the significance of what’s just happened. Cas is here, in a body, and it’s insane. At the same time, having Cas in front of him is so incredibly familiar and easy. Dean studies the face he grew up seeing in his dreams. It’s maybe a little younger, less worn and tired, but it’s still _Cas_. Cas, not Jimmy. Everything about him from the voice to his posture to his goddamn eyes are different from the man Dean was talking to earlier in the day. The one who certainly got the shit end of the stick tonight.

“So, uh, is Jimmy okay in there?” Dean asks at last. The idea of another person riding along in Cas’s body while they sit and chitchat is still freaky.

“Jimmy is…released,” Cas says quietly, looking away from Dean and down to his hands.

“Released? What does that mean? He’s still your vessel, isn’t he?”

“He was very close to the veil when I asked his consent,” Cas explains uneasily and Dean does not like the sound of that. “Once I was within this body, I…allowed him to depart.”

“Allowed him to – is he _dead_?” Dean balks, grabbing Cas’s shoulder and forcing him to look up. It’s sort of like grabbing a statue – immovable and firm. Because this isn’t a person it’s…God, Dean doesn’t even know.

 “His soul is at peace,” Cas replies tightly, his eyes regretful but determined. “I owed him that much, after-”

“After you ruined his life, yeah,” Dean snaps and Cas winces.

“I never meant to hurt him or cause such upheaval in his life,” the angel says, guilt written across his face. “I offered to make him forget, to go away, but he refused. He thought he was blessed and I was-”

“Lonely.” Dean feels sick. Again. “Because of me.”

“Dean…”

Dean lets go and slumps back against the car, shutting his eyes and trying to just breathe for a second. “You should have come back.” Dean didn’t know he believed it until the words came out.

Cas looks at him with a bemused expression. “I tried,” he confesses and Dean remembers Jimmy’s theory. “I wanted to.”

“Yeah, Jimmy said something about that and I don’t get it,” Dean says, pushing past the guilt and focusing on the sea of questions that he finally has someone here to answer. “The demons said that too, that night. That we were hard to find.”

“You’re warded,” Cas answers as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“Yeah, the house and the cars, sure but –”

“No, Dean. _You_.” Dean blinks at Cas in the orange glow of the streetlight, not comprehending. “It’s very powerful warding too, like I’ve never seen. It makes it impossible for anyone - demon, angel, human, _anyone_ \- to find you.”

“What?” Of all the insane things Dean has heard in this long-ass day, this is by far the strangest.

“Sam and your mother have the same protections.”

Dean just nods, mouth hanging open in shock. “Oh. Kay.”

“When you were a child the aura of the ‘spot’ as well as my own endeavors made it particularly hard for anything supernatural to find you or your family,” Cas continues, his voice a low, thoughtful rumble. “And they were certainly looking.”

“That’s why they went after Christian,” Dean murmurs, a very old puzzle piece finally coming into place. Cas nods. “Okay but…where is it? Warding needs to be written, right? You can’t just cast a spell on something. Believe me we tried and –”

“Your bones.”

“My _bones?_ ”

“Enochian on your ribs, specifically,” Cas clarifies, completely unmoved by Dean’s amazement.

“How the fuck did it get there?” Dean gropes at his chest in discomfort at the thought of some weird spell _written on his bones_.

“I don’t know.” Cas’s face is apologetic but untroubled. “But it’s why I stayed so close to you when you were young. If I lost track of you, there was no way for me to find you again beyond your direct prayer.”

“Oh, sure, yeah, that makes total sense,” Dean snarks and it actually seems to placate Cas, which is not okay because Dean is still pissed at him. Which brings him back to his point.

“So, I told you to fuck off and because I have some magic scratches on my skeleton, Jimmy was fucked.” Cas sighs rather than argues, staring down at his hands again. “Jesus, between him and the orderly you flambéed, we’ve got a pretty good body count today.”

“The nurse lived,” Cas offers, though Dean can tell it’s not much of a consolation. “Dean, I am truly sorry. For Jimmy and the others that have been hurt. Human lives are the height of my Father’s creation. I don’t enjoy ending them. Or ruining them.”

“Wow,” Dean says and Cas gives him a quizzical look. “I didn’t know anyone but Sam could do that hurt puppy dog face that well.”

Cas only looks more confused, though at least his color seems to be coming back a bit. Dean sighs, trying to keep up his anger and failing. It’s impossible when all he can do is look at Cas and think how fucking much he missed him.

“Look, man…We both screwed up. A lot. I’ve spent nine years blaming myself for Grandpa and Sam and just about everything else, but it doesn’t undo things. So…I’m gonna try and move forward. Okay?”

Cas just stares at him, like he’s gonna find forgiveness in Dean’s pores or something. “Alright,” he says finally. “I guess it’s like you said: we can’t change the past.” The words seem to sit uneasily with Cas, but Dean has no more arguments to make.

He sighs and scrubs a hand through his hair, still wet from the Illinois rain. “So, you got any idea what could have done…” Dean gestures at his chest awkwardly.

“It was an angel.”

“ _Another_ angel?” Dean really he shouldn’t be surprised by anything at this point, but he is.

“I felt the echoes of their graces the day you almost drowned.”

“You mean when you took a ride in my meat suit,” Dean grumbles. “I remember.”

“I can’t tell who it was, but they went to a great deal of trouble to conceal you from hell _and_ heaven.”

“Heaven?” Dean repeats, suddenly very not okay with where this is going.

“You and Sam have a very important destiny, Dean,” Cas tells him then hesitates.

“Cas. Honesty is important.”

Cas takes a deep breath and goes on. “Interfering with that destiny is why I was exiled.”

“I thought it was just cause angels weren’t allowed to interfere at all,” Dean shoots back, trying to square this with what he got from Jimmy and old dreams of similar conversations. He’s beginning to think there was a lot of information Cas didn’t think was appropriate to share with a five year-old.

“We’re not. But interfering with you was…extremely disruptive.”

“Great. We have a destiny, that’s…awesome,” Dean sighs, letting his eyes fall closed. “Damn, I just wanna sleep.”

“If you like, you can rest in the back of the car. I’ll watch over you.”

Dean opens his eyes to stare at Cas’s sincere face in disbelief. Again. “Well, that doesn’t sound creepy at all.”

“I can make you sleep.”

“At least not as creepy as that.” Dean rises stiffly from the ground, offering Cas a hand which he takes very hesitantly. His hands (Jimmy’s hands? Dean’s not sure) are soft and surprisingly warm. Nice hands, actually. Long fingers and…Dean stops himself before his mind goes any further. He’s obviously more exhausted than he thought. He certainly can’t be blamed for remembering or being suddenly reminded that Cas is actually pretty cute and…“You know what? Screw it. Fine. Gimme the knock out and keep watch while you recharge or whatever. It’ll be like old times.”

Cas smiles at that, obviously pleased to have a purpose and Dean shakes his head as he hauls himself into the back seat. If only his mom knew how literal the words she used to tuck him in with would become…Crap. He should call his mom before he does anything else. Before he can even open his mouth, two warm fingertips brush his forehead and the world goes black.


	10. Ticket to Ride

**Sunday, June 9, 2002**

**34 Miles East of Huntsville, Alabama**

7:04 am

 

Dean Winchester has changed a great deal in the eight years, seven months, eight days, six hours and thirty two minutes since Castiel last saw him. Castiel has been cataloging the details as he waits for Dean to wake. It’s been eight hours, which is a healthy amount of time for a human sleep cycle, but it’s felt longer confined inside this form. He can still fly of course. His wings could still carry him across the earth in a second, though it taxes his grace, but he has a duty to protect the sleeping man in the back of the hulking black car. The car has changed too, though not as much as Dean.

 He’s taller by seven inches, broader as well. Now he fits better into the worn leather jacket he wears like armor, but it’s still too big. Some of the freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose have darkened. His hair is shorter now and less blond. His features have retained the same outline though: full lips and strong jaw and piercing eyes. Castiel cannot see their green now, as the sun creeps higher in the sky, golden light spilling through the windows onto Dean’s sleeping face; but he wonders what that color looks like in the summer sun. It’s a strange thought, really. But many strange thoughts have passed through his mind as he’s watched Dean through the night. It’s so different, looking at him through the prism of human perception that comes with a vessel. He didn’t really have the chance before. Now he has had hours to breathe in the scent of grass and asphalt and dust and wind; to taste dawn and touch the dew on the frame of the Impala. And to watch Dean.

It is comforting, amid such sudden change and upheaval, just to look at him, see he is safe, look past his features and glance as his soul. His soul has not changed, not really, and its brightness is also comforting in its familiarity. Even when he first found Dean as a child, it had been so, as if his soul was something Castiel had already known and always would.

There are birds singing in oak trees hung with Spanish moss down the road, and the distant sound of an engine approaching. The air is warming, already thick with humidity and the potential of morning. It's what one might call peaceful, the sort of quiet Castiel once found in many heavens, before he knew Dean Winchester. It is a beautiful way to view his Father’s creation, but it doesn't hold his interest so much as the man he has watched and searched for and protected and longed to return to for so many years. No part of creation he has encountered yet compares to Dean as he blinks slowly awake and green eyes look at Castiel.

The peace of the moment is somewhat marred by Dean scrambling upright and hitting his head on the low roof of the car and swearing.

“Have you just been standing there all night?” Dean demands breathlessly, rubbing his head and eyes.

“I told you I would watch over you,” Castiel answers, looking down at the road beneath his bare feet, perplexed by Dean’s surprise. “I could see you and any possible approaching threats better here than in the car.”

“Still sorta creepy,” Dean mutters, then begins to work his mouth uncomfortably and rub his stomach. “Jesus, I need a toothbrush. And grub.”

“Why would you need insect larvae?” Castiel asks as Dean emerges from the car and stops mid-stretch to stare at him.

“Food, Cas.”

“Oh.”

Dean rolls his eyes then looks Castiel over from head to toe and shakes his head. “Yeah, you need a new outfit.” Dean heads to the trunk and opens it with a creak. Castiel watches curiously as Dean digs through his green canvas duffle, sniffing clothes and examining them.

“These clothes are very comfortable, I don’t see what the problem is,” Castiel says, looking down at the hospital-issue shirt and pants Jimmy had worn. “Though shoes would probably be useful.”

“Ya think?” Dean replies in annoyance. “Here, these might not fit great but you’ll look a bit more normal.” Dean hands Castiel a wad of clothes and a worn pair of shoes, along with two pairs of socks. “Those are in case the shoes are too big,” Dean explains, apparently able to see Castiel’s confusion. Castiel nods and sets the clothes on the car then begins to pull off his shirt. “Hey!” Castiel stops mid-movement. Dean’s face is pinker and somewhat appalled. “Do you want us to get arrested?”

“No, that would be very unhelpful.”

“Then don’t get naked in the middle of the road!” Dean snaps, moving around Castiel to yank the back door of the Impala open.

“It will be much harder to move-”

“Get in the car, Cas!”

Castiel scowls but complies. It’s obviously important to Dean, which is reason enough to go along.

Dean’s face remains pink and for some reason he refuses to look at Castiel as he pulls off the hospital clothes. Dean slides into the front seat and rummages around the foot well until he finds a small cellular phone. He swears softly as he looks at it. “No bars and almost out of juice, great. Not like I know how to explain…anything to Mom.” Dean glances back then seems to choke on something just as Castiel pulls on the worn pair of jeans. They’re tight in the thigh but they fit well enough.

“Your mother, and Sam, they’ve survived as well?” Castiel asks uncertainly. He’s gathered that it’s human custom to ask after the welfare of loved ones and he is curious. Dean laughs softly before replying.

“Oh yeah, not for lack of trying to kill each other.” Castiel stares at Dean in alarm via the rearview mirror. “No, not really. Just an expression, okay? They just fight a lot.”

“Oh,” Castiel murmurs. He pulls on the soft black tee-shirt emblazoned with what seems to be an advertisement for different types of electrical current, then turns his focus to the socks and shoes. It’s the first time he’s ever put clothes on and he wants to do it correctly.

“Yeah, but they’re good, mostly. Still hunting, still paranoid,” Dean goes on. “She’ll be stoked about that warding thing. God, I’m hungry. How far did you say Huntsville was? Hopefully we can get some food and report back to the commander on the way.”

“Thirty four miles west,” Castiel answers, examining his feet. It feels strange to have them confined but not necessarily bad.

“Well, let’s pray there’s a diner or something closer than that.”

“We shouldn’t do that, praying might alert heaven of our location and I don’t think we –” Dean is looking at him with amusement and shaking his head again. “Another expression?”

“Yeah,” Dean answers, his voice is clipped but his expression holds no anger. “Get in the front and we can – shit!” Dean jumps when Castiel appears in the front seat in an instant, moving with an easy twitch of his wings.

“You said to get in the front,” Castiel reminds Dean, who just blinks slowly and shakes his head.

“You are gonna take some getting used to.”

 

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

 

Mary has half a mind to shoot the phone rather than answer it for ringing so early on a Sunday morning, but there are only two people that could be calling at this ungodly hour so she resists the urge. Bobby gives a groan as she stumbles out of bed and picks up the outdated plastic receiver.

“Why are you awake this early? What’s wrong?” she asks without ceremony.

“It’s like eight o’clock,” Dean argues back immediately.

“It’s the weekend,” Mary says through a yawn.

“Not like you keep union hours,” Dean replies and Mary would roll her eyes if they would open all the way.

“How’s Indiana?” Mary asks, waving a thank you to Bobby as he stumbles out of the room to start coffee like the saint he is.

“Illinois. And I’m kinda…not there anymore.” The trepidation in Dean’s voice is troubling to say the least.

“Dean, are you okay?” 

“I’m fine. Sorta.”

“ _Sorta_?”

“I’m not hurt, uh, anymore,” Dean says quickly which only increases Mary’s alarm.

“What the hell happened?” She is suddenly very alert and awake.

“I, uh, maybe might have…run into some demons.”

“Demons?!” Mary yelps and Ringo springs up on alert from where he was sleeping on the floor. “Are you okay? Is Sam alright?”

“Sam?” Dean sounds as confused as Mary feels. “How would I know if Sam’s okay?”

“Sam’s not with you?” Mary asks, the bottom going out of her stomach. “Where is he? Did you two split up? Dean, I told –”

“What are you talking about, isn’t Sam there with you?” Dean’s voice is panicked and high.        

“Sam told me he was going on the job Ash found _with you_ ,” Mary says, hoping if she can just explain, things will be alright. “He left with you.”

“I dropped Sam off at his girlfriend’s,” Dean replies slowly. “He said he would tell you…oh crap.” The pieces are falling into place but Mary can’t believe the picture they make. “He was going to get lai–hang out, then go home with you.”

“Oh my god.” Mary leans against the wall, a hundred scenarios, each more horrible than the last, playing out in her head. “Dean, where-”

“You’ve gotta go check Ava’s first, maybe he’s still there.”

“Dean, what –” Mary hears an unfamiliar, deep voice asks on Dean’s end of the line.

“Not now,” Dean snaps.

“Dean who is that? Are you with someone?” Mary asks, nothing making sense at all.

“Uh, yeah, I - I ran into another hunter on the, uh, Illinois thing.”

“Dean, you’re a terrible liar, what’s going on?”

“Everything is okay. Totally, perfect. He’s helping me, alright? I trust him.” Dean evades. “Go check out the girlfriend’s place. Ava Wilson on 103rd in Coleman, it’s a little crappy bungalow, blue. Cross street was, uh, Jefferson?”

“Are you heading home?” Mary asks as she scrambles to write down the address.

“Uh, I…I gotta follow up on this demon thing, it might take me a few days but call me if you find Sam, okay?” Dean replies far too quickly.

“Dean…”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got back up! I’ll be fine,” Dean says and Mary hears the deep voice ask something she can’t make out.

“ _Dean_ ,” she growls.

“I’ll stay in touch, just be safe okay!”

“Dean! I swear –” The line goes dead and Mary slams the receiver down. Ringo gives a worried whine at her feet. “Goddamnit!”

Bobby of course chooses that moment to return, eyes wide and worried. “What mess did those boys get themselves into now?”

Mary presses a palm to her forehead, then pushes it into her still sleep-messed hair. “Well, Dean ran into some demons, and Sam apparently lied to all of us and is MIA.”

“What?” Bobby scoffs in shock. “Sam wouldn’t…”

“Of course he would, he’s been wanting to get away from his ‘freak family’ since he turned eighteen,” Marry shoots back, close to tears at the thought. No. She’s not going to break down now, not until she knows he’s not just tangled up in bed with the girlfriend he’s too embarrassed to introduce them to. “Get dressed, we’re driving to Coleman.”

 

**Huntsville, Alabama**

 

Dean stares up at the bright blue sky above the gas station where they’ve stopped and sighs. _Of fucking course_ this is the day Sam flies the coop. They’ve got demons and angels on their plate, why not add an AWOL little brother? This is fine.

“Dean…” Cas asks hesitantly for the third time. Dean finally dares to look at him, which is still a trip even in the midst of so much crazy.

“Sam’s not home,” Dean tells the angel, who looks at him with genuine concern over the roof of the Impala. “He lied to me and Mom and Bobby and we don’t know where he is.”

“That’s not good.” It’s more a statement than a question and it’s certainly true. “The demon I killed he –”

“He said they had Sam right where they wanted him, yeah,” Dean finishes for him. “You got any idea where that is?” Cas blinks and shakes his head slowly. “Oh come on, man, you say Sammy and I have some big destiny that you screwed with, and we’ve known for years the demons want him for something, and you got _no idea_ what it is?”

“I wasn’t a high enough rank to receive that sort of revelation,” Cas explains, actually looking a bit embarrassed.

Dean raises his brows in interest. “Rank?”

“Yes, angels are soldiers, we have commanders…”

“Yeah, I read _Hierarchies of Angels_ like six years ago, figured you were a seraph.” Castiel gives what passes for an impressed look and Dean smirks. “So that means you have - _had_ a boss.”

“There was one who commanded my garrison, yes."

“Would they have known what was up with Sam and I being destiny’s children or whatever?” Dean pushes. Cas nods and Dean gives a grim chuckle. “Too bad we can’t ask ’em.”

Cas’s eyes go wide in, well, revelation. “Perhaps we can.”

“Excuse me?”

Cas looks rapidly around, as if he’s watching a plan come together in the air around him. “My commander, she’s on earth.” Cas tells him absently. “Southern Ohio to be specific.”

“There’s another angel running around the Midwest?” Dean asks in horror. “How is this not a thing I’ve heard about?”

“Because she’s not an angel anymore,” Cas fixes Dean with a look he can’t translate but still makes his heart beat a bit faster. “She tore out her grace and fell, after I was exiled. I heard the other angels lamenting it. I felt it happen.”

“How does that work?”

“She was reborn as a human,” Cas explains, like it’s obvious.

“In Southern Ohio.”

Cas nods solemnly.

“Okay, uh, let’s go then,” Dean sighs, and opens the car door.

“I can go and bring her back here,” Cas declares and moves like he’s going to walk off, Dean rushes around the car, waving his hands.

“Hey! Hey. No,” Dean yells and Cas takes a step back in surprise. “You’re not just gonna whoosh away and grab some random chick from Ohio.”

“Why? It will be far more efficient than us traveling there in this.”

“Hey!” Dean snaps. “She can hear you.” Cas purses his lips and Dean really hopes he doesn’t have to explain that he didn’t mean that literally. “Won’t going your way drain your batteries or something? And how do you even know if this girl remembers she’s an angel?”

“I can restore her memory,” Cas argues, looking up at Dean petulantly. It’s still a trip for Dean that he’s actually a few inches taller than Can now.

“Yeah, cause that won’t be super traumatic,” Dean hits back. Cas opens his mouth to argue. “Just, trust me on this okay. Slow and steady.”

“Slow and steady _what_?” Cas asks back, shifting back to what seems to be his default state of annoyed bewilderment.

Dean heaves an exhausted sigh. “Wins the race."

“What ra-“

“Just get in the car!”

Castiel clenches his jaw and glares at Dean, who is suddenly reminded that the rumpled, exasperated man in front of him is just a shell for something infinite and cosmic and powerful enough to explode Dean into molecules just for getting mouthy. Dean doesn’t stand down though, because this is also the friend that chased away his nightmares and for some reason seems to value Dean’s life above a whole lot of more important things.

“Please?” Dean adds, voice considerably less assured. Cas stares him down for one more second then huffs and complies. “Thank you,” Dean sighs, circling the car again and glancing around the gas station to see if they’ve caught any attention with the little scene. Yup. They’re getting looks.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Cas asks as the Impala roars back to life.

“The general direction of Ohio seems like a good bet. But if you want to be helpful, there are maps in the glove box. See if you can find us a route.”

Cas, very grudgingly, fishes a map out of the overstuffed glove box and squints at it for several minutes before Dean reaches over and turns it the right way up.

“Guess that God is my co-pilot stuff is overrated.”

Cas glowers at Dean, who can’t help but grin.

 

**Coleman, South Dakota**

 

“Wilson, ya idjit, like Tom Hanks’ damn volleyball!” Bobby barks into the cell phone. Mary can sort of make out Ash’s voice on the other end of the line. He sounds as relaxed as usual. Maybe having Bobby talk to him wasn’t a great plan. “There’s got to be something. If not that street, try the town. Yeah, I know it ain’t that easy but…Damnit, get off me you mutt!” Bobby swats at Ringo, who is now trying to climb out the car window. “Ash, where…Hey, Ellen.”

Mary looks past Ringo’s ears and out the window at the blue bungalow. It looks empty, but then again it is nine a.m. on Sunday. Checking for the exact address with Ash had seemed like a precaution, but now even more alarms are going off.

“Well, we’re worried about Sam. You ain’t heard from him, have ya?” Bobby asks and Mary doesn’t want to wait to hear more.

“I’m going in.” Mary gets out of the car, not waiting for Bobby to follow and Ringo springs out and trots at her heels. She’s already armed, not that it would even matter if it was a demon inside. All her instincts tell her that isn’t what’s waiting, if it was the ridiculous dog panting at her ankles would be on much higher alert.

“Damnit, Mary!” she hears Bobby grunt as she walks down the slightly overgrown path to the front door and knocks.

No answer comes. She tries again, also pressing the doorbell. Nothing. She glances around before trying the knob and is surprised when the door opens easily. Maybe someone is home and left it unlocked. The silence of the house when Mary enters says otherwise. It’s messy in a way that’s not normal, as if whoever was here didn’t care about the furniture or carpets or cleaning any more than to keep things habitable. Mary moves cautiously through the little house. Noting old pictures on the wall of weddings, a few little boys, and an older couple. Her stomach starts to tighten as she get to the bedroom, which has the same ill-used appearance. No one in any photographs that looks like they could be a college-aged girl now.

Every room is empty, and Ringo whines, echoing Mary’s rising distress as they end up in the dirty kitchen at the back of the house. She hadn’t really expected to find Sam here, but she had hoped. Now they’ve just confirmed what she already knew. Sam is gone. Ringo whimpers again, pawing at the back door.

“Mary?” Bobby calls, emerging into the kitchen.

“They’re not here,” Mary says, watching as Ringo continues scratching at the worn wood.

“That’s because there ain’t any Ava Wilson living within fifty miles of SDSU, at least not on record,” Bobby tells her. “And yeah, I asked the genius to check the school records too. He’ll get back. But this address belongs to Willard and Betty Crabtree, ages eighty and seventy-six.”

“That doesn’t make-”

Ringo gives an impatient bark and claws at the door again. The familiar anticipation of a hunt rises under Mary’s skin as she opens the door. The dog bolts out into the overgrown yard. Even through the weeds it’s easy to see where the earth has been more recently disturbed, right at the edge of the fence. That’s where the dog starts digging.

“What’s gotten into him?” Bobby asks suspiciously before he see it too.

Mary turns away at the first glimpse of mottled skin through the dirt.

“We need to call the police and leave. I think he just found Willard and Betty.”

 

**Route 64, Tennessee**

  
“Hey look, Cleveland,” Dean says, breaking the silence that had fallen after the cassette finished thirteen minutes before. Castiel turns to Dean, waiting for him to explain the significance of the sign he finds so amusing. “It’s also a place in Ohio,” Dean says, as if that clarifies things. “Cause we’re going to Ohio…it’s funny. Never mind.”

“You still make jokes when you’re uncomfortable,” Castiel comments and Dean rolls his eyes.

“You still don’t have a sense of humor.”

“Maybe you just aren’t as funny as you think you are.” Dean gives him a sidelong glare, though he is fighting a smile. That eases Castiel a bit. He’s always liked it when Dean smiled.

The tinny ring of Dean’s phone is a welcome distraction. Dean’s eye return to the road as he answers. “Mom? Any luck with the girlfriend?”

“The exact opposite,” Castiel listens to Mary say. Her voice, even distorted and thin over the phone, sounds tired and worried. “That house where you left Sam? No one there but the corpses of the people I’m thinking this girl killed to stay there.”

“Jesus fuck,” Dean exclaims, and Castiel can see his whole body tense. “What are you saying? Do we think she was a demon?”

“Sam would never have risked being alone with her without testing,” Mary replies, harried. It’s comforting to Castiel that she has not stopped being cautious or teaching her children to be so as well. “She only registered at SDSU recently, and her listed address was a PO Box. We had Ash run some searches and we did find an Ava Wilson Sam’s age from Peoria…”

“I don’t like where this is going,” Dean mutters, taking a deep breath.

“Her parents died in a fire in ’93 and then she went missing,” Mary replies, voice dark.

“You said she’s the same age as Sam?” Dean glances at Castiel, who avoids his eyes. He’s almost certain as to what Ava Wilson is, but he’s not sure Dean is ready to know. Certainly not Mary.

“We’re going to try a locator spell,” Mary says. “But I don’t think–”

“It won’t work. If Sammy or this chick don’t want to be found, no spell is gonna help.”

“We have to try _something_ ,” Mary protests. “Figure out where they were headed. Maybe he’s just…”

“We’re – I’m following a lead on that. I might be able to figure out what the demons want with Sam.”

“A lead?” Mary echoes and Castiel hears a faint scoff in the background, probably Bobby Singer. “Does this have to do with these demons that you ran into _that you haven’t told me anything about_?”

“They were after the same, uh, thing as this other hunter and we took care of them.”

“Dean, I know you aren’t telling me something,” Mary growls. “Who is this hunter? Do I know him? What’s going on?”

“It’s not important, just…focus on Sam.” Dean keeps looking over at Castiel as if he expects him to help in some way.

“And how do you suggest I do that?” Mary snaps.

“Get to the Roadhouse, have Ash do his magic and get Ellen to start shaking trees.”

Mary heaves a sigh. “Fine. Call me as soon as you know anything.”

“Yeah, sure thing. Love you. Talk soon,” Dean says too quickly before hanging up and tossing the phone back onto the seat between them. “This is bad.”

“It’s worse than you know,” Castiel mutters, looking at the little, silver plastic brick and then up at the lines of worry between Dean’s brows.

“You gonna share with the class?”

“This girl that Sam is with, I think she’s…like Sam,” Castiel begins.

“Yeah, I got that,” Dean interrupts. “There were a bunch of other fires that year on other kids’ six month birthdays. But her parents died when she was ten.”

“Only parents that confronted Azazel were killed, I believe,” Castiel replies and Dean’s head whips to fix him with a disbelieving look.

“ _Azazel_?” Castiel shifts uncomfortably. He’s not sure how much of the scant information he’s gleaned since his exile he should share. Dean would probably want all of it. “Is that Yellow Eyes?” Dean pushes and Cas nods. “How do you know this?”

“I’ve been listening, to the other angels, since we…parted,” Castiel answers. “Azazel tainted many children before he found Sam.”

“Tainted? Oh I do not like the sound of that,” Dean mutters, reluctantly looking back at the road, which Castiel is grateful for.

“He wanted to give them power, I don’t know why, but he fed them his…” Castiel hesitates. His focus in his time guarding the Winchesters had been on Dean, much to the expense of noting other anomalies in the house. Of course he cared about the whiff of the infernal that Sam Winchester carried, or the strangeness of their family pet, but at the time it had seemed so small and inconsequential, no stranger than the warding they carried or the calling of their family. Another mistake. “His blood.”

Dean wrenches the wheel to the right and slams the brakes so that the cars skids to a stop on the side of the road.

“Sam is tainted by fucking _demon blood_?” Dean yells. He turns fully to Castiel, who very much feels trapped in this small space and small body, pinned by a human’s furious look. He simply nods. “Is – is that why he can do weird stuff? When he was younger, that night…he moved a fucking china cabinet.”

“That is one possible manifestation of the powers, yes,” Castiel replies carefully. “But there are many possibilities. There’s no telling what the others like Sam could do.”

“You mean like Ava.” Castiel nods ruefully and Dean falls back in his seat, scrubbing his face. “I don’t get it though. Are we thinking she, what, got kidnapped and raised by fucking demons? Why her if they want Sam?”

Castiel stares at Dean, who fidgets under the attention, probably completely unaware of how brilliant he is. “Exactly. You’re all warded, all know how to detect and fight against demons, even your pet can sense them.”

“ _Excuse me_?”

“Azazel is very old, and very smart. Instead of a demon he sent a human, one he’s corrupted,” Castiel continues. “One who could appeal to Sam.”

“So Sam probably doesn’t even know this chick is working for the bad guys. But if they want him for…whatever, they’re probably not gonna hurt him, right?”

“There are many ways of harming someone,” Castiel replies darkly, and Dean give him an annoyed look.

“Not comforting, Cas.”

“I wasn’t aware I was supposed to be lying to you to ease your worry. I thought you didn’t want me to withhold information.”

Dean rolls his eyes and looks like he’s holding back saying something angry. “So…okay, Yellow – Azazel was looking for a _specific_ kid, dosed a bunch of them up, and then figured out it was Sam,” Dean restates carefully, like he’s testing the weight of the thoughts. “How’d he know?”

Castiel looks away, guiltily. He’s become very familiar with that feeling in the last two decades, especially in regards to Dean. “Because Sam was the only one hidden,” Castiel answers quietly. “And the only one in whose life heaven has interfered.”

“You gave it away,” Dean says, though there is thankfully no anger in his voice, just a sort of sad awe. “But you…Jimmy says you don’t know why you were there that night.”

“I don’t.” The mention of Jimmy sends another stab of guilt through him. “Jimmy thought it was God.”

“Wait, you don’t?”

“Why would God want me to disrupt his plans?” Castiel asks back, finally voicing the doubt that has besieged him for so long. “I’ve wanted to know for years why I did what I did, Dean. If I had an answer maybe I could return home. But I don’t and –”

“Hey, we’ll figure it all out,” Dean tells him, touching Castiel’s shoulder and drawing him out of a tangle of thoughts. Castiel stares down at the hand. It’s not the first time Dean has touched him, or that he has touched Dean, but it’s gentler this time. Also no one is bleeding or fleeing. Dean’s hand is warm through the tee-shirt and Castiel wonders what his skin feels like. Perhaps something in between the warm leather of the Impala’s seats and the soft fabric between them that still smells like the hunter. “You with me, Cas?”

Castiel looks up and is caught by Dean’s bright, expectant eyes. He nods. “Yes, I’m…I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry for something not in your control,” Dean tells him and Castiel raises an eyebrow, aware that Dean has expressed the exact same sentiment over many things outside his control. “Yeah, yeah. Shut up.”

Dean shifts the car back into gear and steers them back onto the road. Castiel remains silent as commanded, not sure what he’d say anyway.

“So, uh, tell me what you know about Azazel,” Dean asks after a few minutes and Castiel turns to him in surprise. “I know it’s probably gonna all be bad news, but I can’t do research while I drive and you know this shit, so spill.”

Castiel takes a deep breath, not because he needs to but because the scent of the car and the feel of the air in his mouth and lungs is…comforting. And it gives him a moment to think. “Azazel is a Prince of Hell, one of the first born demons turned by Lucifer himself, he was a commander of the knights of hell before they disappeared. He is one of the most powerful demons still walking the earth.”

“Where are the others? Dead?”

“Some. Others have vanished,” Castiel continues. “The most powerful one is still in hell. We should be very thankful for that.” He glances at Dean, who looks worried, but still curious.

“Dude, it is so weird to just have all the supernatural encyclopedia riding shotgun. Weird having you back in general.” Dean says, shaking his head.

“Is that bad?”

“No, man it’s just…” Dean glances at him, eyes surprisingly bright. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Castiel finds himself swallowing, which is strange. He didn’t think he was in tune with his vessel enough for it display an involuntary physical response based on his…thoughts? Feelings? He’s not sure. But he does know his response to the words is more than just cognitive, it’s physical. It warms his borrowed heart and grace alike. “Thank you, Dean,” is all he can manage to say and finds himself smiling.

“So, demons. Keep going,” Dean replies, smiling back.

 

**Rock Springs, Wyoming**

 

“I’m cursed,” Sam says, staring through the waiting room window at where Ava’s poor Corolla sits the dark bay of the garage.

“It’s not that big a deal. So we have to stay a night or two,” Ava tells him, stroking his arm.

“No. I mean I am literally, actually _cursed_.” The car had been fine when they’d pulled into their motel last night but this morning the engine wouldn’t even turn over. “How does a carburetor just fall out?”

“We drove the poor thing a long way yesterday. And I maybe wasn’t the best at the maintenance thing. But it’s not like we’re on a timeline.”

“I wonder how they did it,” Sam says before he can think better of it and Ava, understandably, gives him a weird look. “I mean, uh…how they’ll fix it?” She doesn’t seem convinced but doesn’t say anything either. Sam’s actually only half sure that the car trouble is due to a spell or something else supernatural. It’s probably just bad luck but it _feels_ not right in a way he’s only ever associated with haunted houses and digging up bodies. He’s probably just being paranoid the way his mom raised him to be.

Sam huffs out a long breath and follows as Ava leads him out of the garage. They’ve spent most of the morning dealing with the car, but now that it’s safely under the care of the most annoyingly slow mechanics in Wyoming, they can actually look around the town. They’re nestled in a valley surrounded by round, dusty hills aspiring to be mountains. There’s the usual stuff – gas stations and a few hotels and restaurants – but not much else.

They end up at a Biggerson’s where Sam picks at his chicken sandwich while Ava doesn’t so much watch as examine him.

“What?” Sam asks as Ava takes a thoughtful sip of Coke.

“Do you really believe in curses and stuff?” Ava asks, blunt and easy.

Sam tenses. “I, uh…do you?”

“Okay, you’re gonna think I’m nuts but –”

“I promise you I won’t,” Sam says without thinking and Ava gives him a smile.

“My house was haunted, when I was like, fourteen,” she says, lowering her voice. “It was crazy. The rooms would go all cold and stuff moved and a few times I heard voices. One night I was watching TV with my mom and we saw this - well, it looked like a woman but it, wasn’t quite right - in the kitchen, just watching us. We moved out a month later.”

Sam stares at her. She’s just as pretty and vivacious as ever, but now there’s something extra there. A spark of hope, or an offer to open up…he’s not sure. “Why are you telling me this?” 

“It’s just…sometimes you mention stuff, or you’ll get a look when I talk about vampire movies or something. Like back there at the garage, I don’t think you were kidding about curses. And I just wanted you to know that…if you do believe in that stuff, I won’t think you’re crazy.”

“Oh you still might,” Sam mutters to his plate. “I…it’s a lot more than believing in ghosts.”

“What, were you raised in a cult or something?” Ava asks, her smile fading as Sam winces. “Oh god, were you?”

“No, no, not a cult, just…I’ve told you my family is kinda different.”

“Yeah?” Ava scoots her seat closer to Sam.

They’ve talked a lot over the past few months since Ava introduced herself in one of his seminars, though never too much about their pasts. He knows Ava doesn’t get along well with her parents in Rapid City, that she wants to study psychology and other basic stuff. But he’s never delved too much into his family because it always seemed impossible that he could trust her but…maybe. And if she’s traveling with him, well, maybe it’s safer if she knows.

“So, if ghosts are real, they can hurt people, right?” Sam starts carefully. “I mean, that’s what you hear about in the scary stories.”

“Right…”

“So, someone has to stop them when they get dangerous. Same with…other things.”

“Other things?” Ava echoes, but draws even closer.

“Monsters,” Sam says it and waits for Ava to laugh or tell him he’s nuts or any of the things a normal person should say. She just nods slowly. “My family are those people.”

“You save people?” Ava asks slowly. “From ghosts and monsters.”

“Yeah, have for generations.” Sam blushes at the impressed look on Ava’s face. “I know it sounds nuts but…”

“No, it actually sounds kinda hot.” Sam can’t stop himself from laughing but when he looks up Ava’s face is warm and inviting. “So tell me more, we got nothing but time.”

 

**Hazard, Kentucky**

 

Cas looks out of place in the diner. His stiff posture, the way he squints at the hubcaps mounted on the walls and old jukebox in the corner like he’s never seen anything like it (which he probably hasn’t), plus the five o’clock shadow, tousled hair and eyes bluer than the sky, make him stick out severely. Add in the fact Jimmy Novak was not a bad looking guy and Dean, if he’s being honest, is easy on the eyes as well and they are already getting _looks_ as Cas stands staring.

“Come on, man, it’s just a greasy spoon,” Dean sighs, tugging Cas by the hem of his borrowed AC/DC shirt and towards a corner table.

“Why did we stop here again?” Cas asks, turning his attention to the menu items listed above the old-fashioned counter with a window back to the kitchen.

“Because they had neon signs for burgers and pie, I’m starving, and I’m kind of tired of talking about the thirty-two different flavors of demon. Also Hazard is a cool name for a town,” Dean recites and at least one of those reasons must be good enough for Cas because he doesn’t argue.

“Hey, boys, can I get you started with some drinks?” a chipper young waitress asks, coming to their table and handing them menus.

“Two Cokes, please, uh…Juliana,” Dean says with his best dashing smile. “Awful pretty name.” She blushes and shakes her head in consternation before walking away. He turns back to Cas who is examining the menu like it’s the Rosetta stone.

“So, uh, _do_ you eat?”

Cas gives him one of those looks that makes Dean feel like a particularly annoying bug. “I am capable of any human bodily function in this vessel, yes,” Cas replies, rumbling and stoic.

“So, like, you can poop?” Dean has never seen anyone but Sam look so annoyed with him and it’s honestly amazing.

“My vessel however does not need the sustenance of such functions as long as my grace is adequate,” Cas continues sourly.

“Your grace? Like, your mojo, batteries, whatever?” Cas nods. “The batteries that are slowly draining the longer you’re not in heaven.” Cas actually looks impressed Dean put that together. “Hey, I pay attention.”

“It seems it’s not as strong as would be ideal,” Cas say uneasily, and Dean does not like the sound of that. Thankfully the waitress chooses that moment to return with their drinks.

“You boys decide what you’re hungry for?”

“Technically I don’t-”

“Two bacon cheese burgers, please,” Dean cuts Cas off. “Extra onions, no lettuce, pickles on the side. And fries.”

“Coming right up,” Juliana chirps and spins away.

“Dean…”

“I know you’re not hungry but you’ve also never had a bacon cheeseburger _or_ french fries and that’s a travesty, so I’m educating you,” Dean explains with a smile. Cas gives him a dubious look. “And try not to talk about the whole not being…from around here thing with normal folk, okay? They won’t be as nice as me.”

“I don’t need people to be nice to me,” Cas says, though he does look down and fidget a bit.

“How’s that going by the way?” Dean ask, gesturing at Cas, who gives him one of those perplexed looks that make up about thirty percent of his expressions. “The whole having a body, mortal coil thing. What’s it like?”

“Smelly,” Cas grumbles, picking up the napkin dispenser to examine.

“Smelly?”

“Would you prefer odiferous?” Cas deadpans, not looking up and Dean shakes his head in defeat. Less than twenty-four hours he’s had his angel back on his shoulder and he’s gone from badass demon smiter to the snarky weirdo who prefers napkins to people.

“Okay, I’ll bite. How is being…envesseled smelly?”

Cas gives a put upon sigh and sets down the napkin holder. He fixes Dean with one of those looks that makes Dean feel like a grain of sand being regarded by the ocean. “In my true form I can perceive levels of reality that human minds can’t even conceive of.” Dean fights the urge to roll his eyes. “But at the same time, humans perceive and experience things that angels never deign to think about, usually. Like smell and taste and…” Cas runs a thumb over the tacky plastic of the ketchup bottle. “Texture.”

Dean remembers - suddenly, vividly - watching his own hands move and examine sand between his fingers and the sense of absolute wonder that had suffused the light within him.

“You like it,” Dean states. “Feeling things.”

“It’s unique to terrestrial existence. And…novel for me,” Cas mutters, avoiding looking at Dean’s widening smile and setting down the ketchup. Dean has the sudden urge to go around finding interesting things for Cas to touch or sniff, but that would probably be weird…er. 

“Glad I ordered you food then,” Dean grins. “Is it different this time? I mean, different from before.”

“I didn’t have a lot of time to appreciate anything before. This is certainly the longest I’ve occupied a vessel…that I can remember.” There’s something in Cas’s tone that doesn’t sit right with Dean at all.

“Celestial beings have memory issues?” Dean asks warily.

“Apparently,” Cas mutters. “But, yes it’s different. It much more…tiring, than I anticipated.”

“Tiring?”

“I can feel my grace diminishing at a much faster pace now. Being ethereal was easier.”

“This is hurting you? Being in a body is draining you _faster_? Cas-”

“You need me this way, I’m no use to you otherwise,” Cas argues. “I’ll be fine, Dean. I just might not be able to smite any more demons.” Dean sighs heavily. He’d been waiting for that and he gets the sense Cas is maybe a bit embarrassed by it. “My blade will still work though, but not against something as old as Azazel.”

“Your…” Before Dean can finish the question a silver, foot and a half long, cross between a sword and spike is gleaming in Castiel’s hand. “Jesus! Put that away!” Dean whisper-yelps, making Cas blink in surprise.

“Why-”

“You’re gonna get us arrested!” Dean explains, frantically trying to push the _giant knife_ out of sight.

“If that happened I could –”

“ _Cas_!” Cas does some movement and the knife – blade – _whatever_ – vanishes and Dean lets out a relieved breath. An older couple is staring at them in annoyance from across the diner but no one else seems to have noticed the little scene. Dean takes a long drink of soda, vaguely wishing it was something stronger then gives Cas an encouraging nod and he cautiously echoes the gesture with his own drink. Dean laughs a bit at the way Cas’s face scrunches up at the first taste. It’s weirdly adorable, which is not a thing Dean usually thinks about…well, anyone. Okay, maybe Ringo. Certainly no one over two feet tall. “You like?”

“I…” Cas takes another sip and licks a drop of cola off his lips. “I’m not sure. The sucrose molecules are…nice. And I like the bubbles.”

Dean grins. “Man, there’s a lot you need to get introduced to,” he muses. “Gotta take you dancing in the rain or some shit.”

“Is that another expression?” Cas asks suspiciously and Dean finds himself laughing. “I have experienced rain, if you recall.” Cas looks up thankfully as Juliana arrives with their food.

“Thanks, looks great,” Dean says as she departs. “Yeah, but you didn’t appreciate it,” Dean argues, taking up his burger. It looks and smells amazing and his mouth is already watering in anticipation. “Doing and appreciating are different thing. Take eating. Everyone’s gotta do it, but you have to make an effort, take some time to think about it, to really appreciate it. Observe.”

Dean makes a bit of a show of taking his first huge bite. It’s worth it, because the burger is amazing and he moans around the warm mouthful. He tries to pick out the flavors as he chews, not that Cas can tell that exactly, but maybe so Dean can get a sense of what it would be like tasting it for the first time; Salty, crisp bacon, melting cheese, the acid snap of onion, the earthy taste of the beef. It’s pretty perfect. He swallows and grabs a fry, popping it in his mouth with a a flourish. It’s a bit on the greasy side but the inside is still warm and fluffy and there’s a good crunch. He nods as Cas’s plate, encouraging him.

“Dean…”

“Come on, Cas, just give it a try.”

Cas picks up a fry like it might come to life and bite him then takes a delicate bite. He chews slowly but a look of surprise fills his face. “It tastes like the ocean.” Okay, not the review Dean was expecting. He wracks his brain as Cas takes a bigger bite and nods.

“When have you…oh!” Of course Cas remembers the taste of a gallon of seawater in a ten year-old’s mouth. “You mean salty.”

“Yes,” Cas agrees with a smile. “And the texture is pleasing.”

Dean shakes his head and takes another bite of burger, then pauses in anticipation as Cas does the same. The look on the angel’s face as he chews shifts from careful interest to elation very quickly.

“This is good,” Cas tells Dean around a mouthful. They need to work on table manners, probably. But later, when Cas isn’t looking at a hamburger in pure adoration. “This is _very_ good.”

“Told ya. I’d never steer you wrong.”

“I never doubted that,” Cas says easily and takes another vigorous bite.

Dean knows that right about now he should be having one of those moments, where he steps out and considers just how insane it is that he’s just introduced a freaking angel of the Lord to the joys of diner food. He spent the morning learning about the higher ranks of demons. Yesterday he saw the guy currently sitting across from him burn a demon out of a person and leave a smoking husk. He should be freaking the fuck out. But he’s not.

Maybe it’s because for years he woke up disappointed from his dreams, lonely and regretful. He missed having someone to tell a secret to that wouldn’t turn it into something to be afraid about or shrug it off like it wasn’t important. He’d spent almost a decade being angry and stupid, and yeah, that’s what kids do, but some part of it had been to fill up this hole that he barely recognized was there. Until it was filled again.

“Wait until you try the pie,” Dean tells Cas and earns a crooked, stuffed-cheek smile.

Cas ends up eating half of Dean’s fries and decides he likes blueberry pie better than cherry. They take two piece of that to go when they hit the road.

 

**The Roadhouse, Nebraska**

 

“Do I need to break out the good whiskey to get you to calm down?” Ellen asks, stepping into the path Mary has been pacing for a good fifteen minutes.

“Ellen…” Mary’s stomach starting to turn in worry again after just a second of being still.

“Sam is a good kid who’s gone and done something stupid, but I know he can take care of himself,” Ellen says. “Ash has got every program he can run looking for them and Bobby’s taken over the rolodex. We’ll find something.”

“Not if Sam doesn’t want to be found!” Mary winces as she finally voices the thought that’s been torturing her all day. “He ran away. From me. From us. He wanted to get away from his family. Yesterday morning, I thought he was just being sweet but he…he was saying goodbye.”

“Oh, honey,” Ellen breathes and pulls Mary into a warm hug.

“Well, I got nothing,” Bobby announces, reentering the bar from the back. Ellen has thankfully put up the closed sign so it’s just them and Jo, who hasn’t said very much. “No one on speaking terms with me has heard a peep from Sam.”

“Didn’t expect they would have,” Mary sighs, pulling away as Ellen pats her back. “He wouldn’t make a mistake like that.”

“Well, Ash is trying too but-” Ellen stops as Jo pointedly clears her throat, then looks down. “Jo, baby, you got something to say?”

The girl looks especially slight and small, hunched over the bar, her blonde hair covering her face. Mary approaches her warily. “Jo? Do you know something?”

“Sam was talking, when he was here a few days ago,” Jo begins unsteadily. “He was tired of…well, of you acting like he’d get eaten by demons if he walked out the door alone.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one,” Mary says.

“Well, he was talking…about making it so you didn’t have to be,” Jo says, quiet and guilty.

“What’s that mean?” Ellen asks darkly.

“I think it means his fool ass is going after the demon,” Bobby guesses aloud but Jo shakes her head.

“He’s not that stupid,” Jo says quickly. “He was talking about going after…the Colt.”

“What?” Mary snaps. “What does this Ava girl have to do with that?”

“I don’t know! He said he knew someone who had a lead, maybe it was her?” Jo squeaks.

Mary shakes her head. That doesn’t add up at all. If Ava is on their side and wants to help Sam, why the hell did she murder two people just to get an address? If she’s with the demons, then why would she lead Sam to something that could kill them? She can see from Bobby’s look that he’s thinking the same thing.

“If Sam’s being played…” Bobby mutters. “Maybe he thinks he can play them back?”

“I don’t even know if it’s the same person, I just…thought you should know,” Jo interjects, voice shaking a bit. It’s uncharacteristic for her to be so hesitant. The worry must be getting to her too.

“Even if that ain’t where Sam’s going, that gun would be useful to have,” Ellen says, raising an eyebrow. “But I only know one person who ever got a real lead on it,” she adds, glancing to Bobby then back to Mary meaningfully.

Mary gulps. She likes this less and less. “Rufus.”

“Only person we ain’t called,” Ellen says.

“Balls,” Bobby grunts and looks angrily to the ceiling.

“I’ll call,” Mary declares, but waits for Bobby to contradict her.

“You think I’m gonna try and get in your way?” Bobby scoffs, shaking his head. “Just don’t tell the son of a bitch I’m around and you should be fine.”

Ellen lets Mary use the phone in the back office, past the room where Ash in ensconced, doing whatever the hell he does while music blares under the door. Ringo gives a curious whine as she enters. He has a nice set-up under the desk that’s been there for years.

It only takes one ring for the familiar, pissed off voice to answer. “What do you want?”

“Rufus it’s Mary. Winchester. I know we haven’t…”

“Haven’t talked for going on, what, nine years? Since you didn’t listen to me and got your asses kicked by that demon?” Rufus shoots back and Mary’s grip tightens on the phone.

“Yeah, since then,” she says. “If you need me to say I was wrong, I’ll say it. But Sam is in trouble and I need your help to find him.”

“Sam?” Rufus echoes with actual concern. “What’s that boy up to now?”

“He might…” Mary hesitates. This still doesn’t feel right, but it’s all they’ve got. Even Ringo looks dubious from his position at her feet. “We think he might be going after the Colt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a lot of googlemapping of the road trips and travel times in this fic, even though the show likes to play fast and loose with these things. I just wanted to mention that.
> 
> And, yes, I went back and tweaked Azazel's description after the Princes of Hell for expanded on in the show.


	11. Help Me If You Can

**Athens, Ohio**

 

“So, bad news and good news,” Dean declares as he enters the dingy motel room they’ve secured on the edge of the town. He has a pizza and what Castiel believes a six pack of beer under one arm and he closes the door with the other. “Bad news is no one’s heard from Sam, not a shocker, but Mom says they might have a lead on where he was go - have you moved since I left?”

Castiel cocks his head to stare back at Dean. “Why would I move? You told me to stay put.”

“I meant _in the room_ ,” Dean explains, clearly exasperated, as usual, though Castiel has no idea why. “You coulda gotten comfortable.”

“I don’t need to –” Dean cuts him off by pushing him down so that he’s sitting on the edge of the motel bed. It is easier on his knees, actually. “Oh.” The very fact he can even discern the difference tells a story about the state of his grace that he would rather not consider too deeply. “Your mother has a lead?”

“Jo says Sam talked about going after this gun that supposedly can kill demons,” Dean says, dropping the pizza and beer haphazardly onto the flimsy table by the window.

“Samuel Colt’s gun?” A memory stirs in Castiel. Perhaps memory is not the right word. He knows what the Colt is, has heard it spoken of by angels and men. This is something different. Something that itches the edge of his consciousness with a strange foreboding.

“Yeah, they think Sam wants it so he can take out Yellow Eyes – Azazel – and be normal or something.”

“Sam will never be normal,” Castiel states, distractedly.

“Try not to be too positive, Cas,” Dean mutters back. “But we apparently know a guy – Rufus – who knows a guy who’s seen it. Out in Colorado.”

“And your mother is going to find this man?”

“Her, Bobby, Ellen, Jo, yeah. Rufus is gonna meet them there and make introductions. He’s gonna be a few hours behind them so, they’re probably gonna have a late night.” Dean opens the pizza box and takes out a slice.

“We’re eating again?” Castiel asks. “I believe the caloric content of what you’ve already had for the day far exceeds what you need.”

“Is this some sort of gluttony is a sin crap? Because if so I got a whole lot of bad news for you about my extracurricular activities.”

“Gluttony is technically a demon, but he and is brethren are locked away in hell.”

Dean actually looks interested in this information.  “Like the other big bads you were talking about? The real heavy hitters?” It doesn’t surprise Castiel at all that Dean makes the connection.

“Yes, but most of them can’t return to earth at the moment. Thankfully.” Castiel looks around the tiny room for the hundredth time. The two beds, the dingy walls, the flimsy doors. All still unimpressive. At least Dean is back now so there is something of note at least. “We should be looking for Anna.”

“Listen, it’s Sunday in the Midwest. Every place with internet is closed.” Castiel waits as Dean takes a bite of the pizza, the pepperoni on top glistening with grease. “That means we have no way of looking her up,” Dean clarifies around a mouthful. “And no, you can’t zap around looking for her, we gotta save your batteries for the big stuff.”

“So we just…sit here?” Castiel asks, feeling his grace prickle in annoyance under his skin.

“How is that a chore for you? Weren’t you just sitting around watching the earth for like, ever? Or me for that matter?”

“I never said it was entertaining. Or productive.”

For some reason this makes Dean laugh. “You got _bored_?” he asks as he takes another bite, which he chews with a smile.

“Occasionally in recent years it did become…tedious,” Castiel leans over to grab a slice of pizza because it might distract from this conversation. There’s something about the way Dean looks at him though: expectant, amused and warm, that make him keep talking. “I was never bored watching you,” he adds before taking a bite. The pizza is different from the hamburger, softer, tangier. It’s good but not as wonderful as the hamburger or french fries.

“Hey, once you creep on the best, no use for the rest,” Dean grins, far too satisfied with himself.

Castiel takes another bite and chooses to ignore him.

They eat in comfortable silence. Between slices Dean opens two beers and hands one to Castiel, which he takes dubiously. He’s reasonably sure it won’t have an intoxicating effect on him, but he’s still unsure of the strength of his grace. He grimaces at the sour taste.

“Should have gotten you not-shitty beer for your first try, sorry. Keep drinking though. You get used to it.”

“Why would you continue to consume something that’s not initially pleasant?”

“Because eventually it gets…pleasant,” Dean fails to answer. “Listen there are much weirder things people end up liking the taste of.” For some reason Dean waggles his eyebrows at that and grins. There is obviously a meaning there which Castiel is missing. Unsurprising. Dean shakes his head at Castiel’s ignorance. “I don’t know. People are weird. We do dumb things.”

“I’ve noticed.” Dean scowls at that and takes a long swig of beer. Castiel regards him as he takes another sip himself, then chases away the bitter taste with more pizza, though the second sip was better. “So, for tonight we just…wait.”

“Well, we can do shit,” Dean offers and Castiel raises a doubtful eyebrow. “Usually when I’m solo I’ll hit up a bar, make some friends. But we can watch TV or read. Sam and Mom and I used to play cards.”

“Cards?”

A smile spreads over Dean’s face that makes Castiel think of watching the sunrise.

 

**Granite, Colorado**

 

“You really want me here?” Bobby asks Mary, glancing around the second most popular bar in the tiny town of Granite.

“What am I supposed to do, make you wait in the car because Rufus has got a grudge he won’t let go?” Mary snaps. “It’s been nine years, hon.”

“Tell him that,” Bobby says and Mary stifles the urge to smack his hat off his head.

“Nice crowd for late on a Sunday,” Ellen deftly changes the topic, eyebrow raised in something like admiration.

“You sure Jo’s okay back at the motel?” Mary asks.

“She didn’t make as much of a stink as your mongrel did when we left him at the Roadhouse,” Ellen replies and Mary cringes. They’d all piled together in the Jeep, which meant there was no room for Ringo, and he had not been alright with that in the slightest. The fit he had thrown was incredible, and he’d ended up locked up with Ash. The worst was that he’d snapped at Jo in particular a few times, who he was usually sweet to.

“Sorry about that,” Mary mutters.

“Well, it’s a day for ornery sons of bitches,” Ellen says with a shrug. “Speaking of.” The darker haired woman nods to the door, where Rufus Turner has just walked in.

He’s barely changed in nine years. His eye are still bright and wary, he still wears a scowl and a goatee. Thank god the earring is gone though. His eyes warm when they fall on Mary then narrow in challenge when they see Bobby.

“You didn’t mention you’d be bringing the whole gang,” Rufus says as he reaches them, an annoyed threat in his voice. Bobby rolls his eye and Mary has already had enough.

“Listen, I know you two have issues you need to work out.” Both men open their mouths to protest but Mary snaps her fingers to shush them, a gesture she hasn’t used since Sam was seven. “But since it’s apparently beyond you to actually talk about it like gown fucking men, I’m gonna need to you to stow your crap right now and focus on the fact my son may be trying to take on all of hell on his own. Is that clear?” Both men blink in shock then nod. “So, why are we in the middle of nowhere and where is this damn gun?”

Rufus shifts, glancing around the room for threats or onlookers that might be too curious before answering. Good to see he’s still the hunter they knew. “Hunter by the name of Daniel Elkins lives around these parts, little hole in the wall a bit east, name of Manning.”

“Elkins?” Ellen repeats. “I’ve heard of him. Mostly deals with vamps. Thought he was retired?”

“Yeah. Mostly,” Rufus replies. “We worked a few jobs back in the day, still catch up. And he’s a chatty drunk. He hinted at it a few times a while back, but two years ago he finally let it slip.”

“He knows where the Colt is?” Mary asks.

“Oh, he better than knows,” Rufus grins. “Asshole’s had it locked up in a safe since 1968.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Bobby breathes. “He say where he came by it? How many bullets he got?”

“Seeing as I just increased your store of useful information by two hundred percent, can we not play twenty questions?” Rufus snaps back. “He was barely forming sentences when he made that little confession and I didn’t push.”

Bobby looks like he’s ready to snipe right back at Rufus but keeps quiet.

“Well, let’s go get it,” Ellen interjects into the silence. “Or are you thinking we wait around for Sam?”

“Well, trying to get to his cabin at night is damn near suicide,” Rufus answers. “I’d say we wait until morning. And I hope you’re ready for a hike.”

Mary purses her lips. She hates the idea of waiting, of doing nothing while Sam is out there somewhere. She’s never been good at patience but this is so far beyond that. She looks to Bobby for his opinion. At this point she doesn’t have to ask, and he doesn’t need words to reply. He gives a small shrug and a nod to indicate it’s as good a plan as any. Mary sighs and nods as well.

“Okay, we’ll find Elkins tomorrow,” Mary declares.

“And until then?” Ellen asks.

Mary looks around the bar then waves to the waitress. “Whiskeys all around.” Bobby and Rufus give her identical impressed look. “Hey. When in Rome.”

 

**Monday, June 10, 2002**

**Athens, Ohio**

 

“Why are we waiting?” Cas asks, squinting through the window and across the street to the concrete walls of Athens High School.

Dean considers not answering because it’s gonna start another long conversation with Cas about “unhelpful human customs” and as fun as that is (and, yeah it kinda is sometimes) Dean’s not sure he’s up for the eighth go of the day.

They’d started out the day with one such informative chat, actually, with Dean having to explain several different facets of human privacy including why it’s strange to watch someone sleep, even if you think they’re ‘fascinating even when unconscious’ and why you’re never supposed to remark when someone takes an extra-long shower. That at least saved him from another convo, thank Christ, because explaining his morning wood to a fucking angel is a level to which Dean will not stoop. That had been an interesting kind of torture, which he mostly attributes to staying up until midnight teaching Cas gin rummy, then losing spectacularly while the angel smiled like an idiot. Any extended period of staring at a good looking face would have yielded the same pleasant but very perplexing dreams and ensuing below the belt situation upon startling awake. Dean’s sure of it.

The fact that Cas spent half their time on the computer at the library pressed against Dean’s back and looking over his shoulder certainly didn’t help make things less weird. Nor does the way Cas keeps licking his lips and fiddling with the inseam of his too tight jeans. Or the fact his hair looks like someone has been running their hands through it and pulling it. Or his voice. Nothing is helping at all, really.

Shit. He’s looking at Cas too long again, which doesn’t faze Cas at all, but still it’s turning into a thing and Dean really should come up with words.

“Because walking into her classroom would be fucking creepy,” Dean answers finally. “And also I said so.”

“My way is faster.”

“Well, we gotta come up with what we’re gonna say to her before we say ‘hi’ too.” Dean wonders if any of the fake IDs he has stashed in the glove box will work for this. He still is a bit too young to convincingly pull off law enforcement, or so the last witness who called him a pretty little thing would lead him to believe. Health inspector maybe?

“We should just be honest: tell her that she is an angel of the Lord lost on earth and we need to restore her memories of heaven to save innocent lives,” Cas responds with implacable sincerity.

“You can’t, _maybe_ , think of how that might be upsetting for someone to hear?” Dean asks back, voice dripping with sarcasm that Cas will ignore.

“I’m not worried about upsetting her.” Of course he’s not. Though they haven’t been around a lot of people, the only human that Cas really seems concerned about accommodating even in the slightest is Dean himself. And while that’s kind of endearing, it’s also a little exhausting.

“Well, upsetting her won’t get us very far, okay? So we’re gonna lie.”

“Because when people really want something, they lie,” Cas’s voice is distant and his eyes are unfocused.

“Uh, yeah, that’s exactly it,” Dean mutters, trying to figure out why Cas looks like he just swallowed a live squid or something. “Hey, you okay, man?”

Cas looks up at Dean. In the thirty six hours or so Dean’s been hanging out with the angel, they have shared a lot of stares and looks. This one is different, like Cas isn’t just seeing into Dean, which he sometimes does (weird enough), but like he’s seeing right through him to something entirely different and confounding.

“Cas?”

The distant sound of the school bell jolts them out of the moment, thankfully, and their attention turns to the stream of high schoolers exiting the squat, concrete building. Earlier they found a grainy picture of Anna Milton online but Dean is counting on Cas to be the first one to see her, angel senses and all.

“There,” Cas states, pointing to a girl with flaming red hair waving to her friends.

“Okay, let’s go then. And let me talk.”

Dean is silently grateful when Cas actually uses the car door rather than poofing out like he did at the library (resulting in Dean nearly having a coronary). Dean tries to look casual among the throng of high schoolers, but Cas is staring after the kid with extra intensity, like she might turn and attack any moment. Maybe Dean should have asked a few more questions about Cas’s ex-boss and the circumstances of her demotion, because the guy looks pissed. They finally catch up to her half a block past the school.

“Excuse me, Anna?” The girl turns to them and Jesus, she’s just a kid. Sure, Dean knew she was in high school but she’s younger than _Jo_. Her eyes don’t have any of that glimpse of the eternal that Cas’s do and if Dean didn’t trust Cas entirely, he would never believe that this girl was the same thing as him.

“Do I know you?” Anna asks warily, drawing back from Cas in particular, who is glowering like it’s his job.

“Uh, no, not really, we’re, uh, working on a project at the college and…well, my name is Dean and this is Cas and-”

The girl’s eyes go wide. “Castiel? And Dean Winchester?”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean stammers. Does fucking every angel and angel-adjacent person in America know his name?

“Are you here about the angels?” Anna ask warily because of course she already knows about angels. Dean doesn’t even know why he’s surprised at this point.

“Yes, we have questions for you,” Cas says and Dean sends him a ‘I told you I was gonna talk’ glare that Cas shrugs off.

“We’re not here to hurt you,” Dean adds and Anna raises an eyebrow.

“That’s the kind of thing someone who’s here to hurt me would say.”

“Touché.” Dean mutters. “Seriously, we just wanna talk. It’s…important”

Anna looks at both of them carefully, more so at Dean than Cas, which is probably for the best. She apparently finds something worth trusting in Dean’s face because she nods slowly. “I don’t know how much I can help you, but, okay.”

Dean heaves a sigh of relief. One hurdle passed, on to the next.

Anna inclines her head and they follow her to the park across the street. She takes a seat at a picnic table that’s seen better days. She shrugs off her massive backpack while Dean and Cas sit across from her, their elbows knocking.

“I just hear them once and a while, I don’t know if I can tell you anything useful,” Anna says with the casual nonchalance that only a teenager can master.

“You hear…angels?” Dean asks back, glancing to Cas for some kind of clue but getting nothing. The angel is focused like a suspicious laser on Anna.

“I don’t tell people about it, really; not even my parents. But they talk about you two sometimes. The angels, I mean. And your brother. Sam? They’re looking for all of you.”

“Oh that’s comforting,” Dean says and Anna gives him an apologetic shrug. “And you’ve never wondered why you can hear them?”

“My dad’s a reverend. He always said it was a ‘blessing to know the voice of heaven.’ I don’t know if he realizes I meant it literally. But I’ve heard them since I was little,” Anna replies easily. “People told me they were imaginary.”

“Yeah, I know how that goes,” Dean says under his breath.

“Do you know why I hear them?”

“You don’t know?” Dean blinks and looks back and forth between Anna shaking her head and Cas pointedly avoiding her eyes.

“I was hoping you might. You…are an angel, right? I’m not really clear on that,” she says to Cas.

“He’s, uh…” Dean doesn’t know how to explain it either but Cas’s face is pained and dark. “He’s an free agent.”

Anna looks dubious but Cas finally looks at her. “You can hear them because you were once one of them. One of us,” Cas tells her, simple and serious, as usual.

“What?” Anna doesn’t actually look like she doesn’t believe, just that it’s something she’s trying to adjust her worldview to.

“You tore out your grace and fell, you were reborn as…this,” Cas explains, though Dean’s a little offended by how he says ‘this,’ like Anna’s somehow unclean or something.

Anna looks away, face pensive. “When I was a child, I kept saying that my father was angry at me, and my parents didn’t know what I meant. Was I talking about–”

“Our Father, yes.” Cas says it with downcast eyes, sad and reverent.

Anna swallows, the blood draining from her already pale face.

“Listen, Anna, I know this is, uh, a lot? To take in? But we’re here because we need your help,” Dean says, trying to salvage the conversation.

“My help?”

“When you were an angel, you knew things,” Dean tries to explain. “About me and my brother.”

“But I don’t remember anything. All I know is that they talk about you.”

Dean nudges Cas, who straightens up a bit and swallows. “I can restore your memory,” Cas tells her cautiously. “If you are willing.”

“It’s your brother who’s in trouble, isn’t it?” Anna asks back. “They’ve been talking a lot in the last few days. About him. About the time finally coming or something.”

“So you get why we have to know what they’re planning,” Dean pushes.

Anna looks away, out at the green grass of the park and the playground far on the other side as the wind jostles her red hair. She takes a long breath and nods. “Okay.”

She looks to Cas as he tentatively he reaches two fingers to touch her forehead. Light suddenly fills Anna up from inside, like when Cas took Jimmy but barely half as bright. Her eyes glow and brightness streams from her mouth, ears and nose for a few nerve-wracking seconds before extinguishing. Anna draws back, panting.

“Anna?” Dean asks hesitantly as the girl stares around her, her demeanor completely changed. Her face is knowing and somber and her eyes now hold an unquestionable authority. She looks back at Dean and Cas with something between a glare and look of despair.

“Hello, Sister,” Cas intones, and Dean can feel him tense beside him.

“Castiel. Last I saw you, I was sentencing you to exile,” Anna spits, and it’s amazing how intimidating the slip of a girl is now. Dean can definitely see her as a commander and she’s looking at Cas like a particularly disappointing cadet. “I see you couldn’t stay away from the scene of the crime, as it were,” Anna says with a snide look at Dean. That apparently raises Cas’s hackles because the air goes electric around them.

“Whoa, whoa, hold on,” Dean interjects, waving his hands in vain to break up the tension. “She… _you_ were the one that kicked Cas out? Also, hi. Again.”

Anna looks supremely unamused by Dean and surprisingly it’s Cas that answers. “As my direct superior she was given the final say in my punishment. She could have done much worse: Imprisonment. Death.”

“Don’t forget torture,” Anna snaps with a thin, sarcastic smile. “Oh wait, that’s the whole point.” Her meaning goes over Dean’s head and apparently Castiel’s, judging from the confusion on his face.

“So, you did Cas a favor?” Dean tries. He seriously can’t figure out why Anna is pissed if she chose not to kill him.

“And I don’t know why,” Anna replies, as if she’s a bit disgusted by it. “Exile was far too kind a fate, and others of much higher rank argued that your defective existence should have been ended right there. But something stopped me. Unfortunately.”

“Wait are you giving him shit for disobeying? Didn’t you go AWOL?”

Anna turns to Dean with a perturbed look. “He refused to admit why he did it. The coward claimed he didn’t know. He couldn’t even hold his conviction enough to ask for mercy. He accepted death like all the other broken, brainwashed toy soldiers up there.”

“I didn’t know why, Anna, I still don’t,” Cas protests and Anna sneers at him.

“Are you hoping to go back?” she asks and the question hits Dean like a punch. He’d never thought about Cas returning home, but of course he would want that; want to be with his family instead of wasting his time down in the dust with Dean. Cas looks away and doesn’t answer. “And now look at you. Your grace is fading fast in this vessel after so long away from heaven, isn’t it? You would have died in the ether, eventually, but this way you’re already closer to me, to us,” she looks pointedly at Dean, “than you are to them. And don’t tell me you wouldn’t give it up just to return home.”

“Anna,” Cas whispers and Dean very much does not like where this is going.

“Why don’t you turn Dean and Sam in?” Anna demands. “It would earn you big points with the higher ups. I bet they would even give you my command.”

“No. Never.” Cas replies automatically and Anna narrows her gaze. “My duty is to protect Dean.”

“And who gave you that job?” Anna asks, her tone suspicious and mocking. “Because it wasn’t me.”

“Yeah, I’m curious too,” Dean mutters but he knows he’s not getting an answer.

“Guess it won’t matter much soon,” Anna says, shifting to smug. “Now that Sam is back on track.”

“Back on track?” Dean echoes. “What track? Would you please just tell me what this big destiny is we’re supposed to have? That’s why we’re here.”

“Believe me, you’ll be happier not knowing,” Anna warns, her face and tone dead serious.

“Let me decide what I want to know, okay,” Dean snarls back. “Come on, how bad can it be?”

Anna’s mouth quirks in a grim little smile as she looks directly into Dean’s eyes. “You and your brother are going to bring on the apocalypse.”

Now, Dean has heard a lot of strange things in his life. Shocking things, too. He’s seen stuff no one should have to. Knows thing that regular people can’t even imagine. It takes a lot to surprise him, or so he’d like to think. But he’s sitting at a picnic table in Ohio with two angels and one of them just told him he’s gonna help end the world.

Surprised doesn’t cut it.

“A-are you fucking kidding me?” Dean looks from Anna to Cas, and oh crap that was a bad idea because Cas is looking at Dean like Dean’s a dying puppy or something else super terrible. Shit. “Cas, come on, tell me…”

“Brothers. The prophecy?” Cas whispers and Anna gives a nod. Dean really wishes Cas would translate. “But…”

“I don’t know the specifics, but I know it’s them,” Anna says. “They are…the end.”

“Then Heaven must be seeking them out to protect them, to-” Cas begins but Anna cuts him off with a brittle laugh.

“You’re still a fool if you think Heaven isn’t as excited about this as Hell,” Anna declares and Dean’s stomach falls another mile or two.

“But then why did I–” Cas stops himself, slamming his mouth closed in quiet anguish. For some reason Dean thinks it’s a good idea to grab the angel’s hand, because really this can’t get any weirder and Dean could use a bit of grounding too if he’s being honest. Cas looks at him with confusion and concern but doesn’t draw away. Anna seems to find it interesting though.

“There is someone who might know why you took an interest in this mortal, or who at least has the tools to find out,” Anna says smugly. “I’m sure once you’re back home, you’ll be sent her way.” Cas scrunches his face in puzzlement, and Dean just keeps holding his hand, mostly because Dean is still stuck on the whole _apocalypse_ thing. “Her name is Naomi. You’ve met her before, but you won’t remember. She’s the one they send us to for…repairs.”

“The torture you mentioned,” Cas says numbly.

“I gave up my grace because I wanted to live, to feel,” Anna says, her voice softening. “But I had wanted those things for so long. Doubted for even longer. My…feelings were discovered when I confided in the wrong person. I was going to be sent to her and I chose to fall instead.”

“Wow, your family sounds like dicks, Cas,” Dean mutters because his brain-mouth filter is barely functional on the best of days and today is not one of those days.

“Just wait ’till you meet the big brothers,” Anna says with an unsympathetic smile and Cas actually looks sick.

“We can stop this, Anna. Heaven won’t let this pass. If you help us we can –”

“No, Castiel,” Anna says with a force that surprises all of them.

“No?” Dean parrots. “We’re talking about the world here.”

“Yes, and nothing you do is going to save it. This is how it’s supposed to end,” Anna replies. “So I want to enjoy the life I have until that end comes.”

“What?” Cas and Dean ask at the same time.

“Make me forget again,” Anna commands. “And while you’re at it, turn off this stupid angel radio in my head and erase every memory of that too.”

Dean looks to Cas, squeezing his hand on instinct. “Cas, you can do that?”

“Yes, I can but…” Cas’s eyes dart all around as he gropes for words. “Anna, we both belong-”

“We belong where we want to be,” Anna answers, eyes like fire. “I know you’re new to this, _Cas_ , and maybe you can’t conceive of what I see among these people. But this life…” Anna’s voice softens as she looks plaintively at them. “I know it’s small, and painful, and dirty, and maybe it’s meaningless to the universe, but it’s _mine_. I wouldn’t give it up for anything. Not heaven. Not paradise. Not anything. I have a second chance to live it and…if the world is going to end, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” She stares them down for a long, silent moment. “Please.”

With a nod Cas lifts his hand once again, and in a shimmering of light, both Cas and Anna are gone and Dean is left alone.

 

**Manning, Colorado**

“I’m telling you, it’s best if Mary and I just go alone,” Rufus repeats, his voice lowering threateningly. Mary is half-convinced they’re going to get in an actual fight in the parking lot of the motel.

“And we’re just supposed to sit here on our asses?” Bobby demands in turn, clearly not impressed by his old friend’s display. “Ain’t you the retired one?”

“Semi-retired and I’m the one that knows where to find the motherfucker, so I am not the one who’s gonna be ditched.”

“Oh, so you are ditching me? Nice to be clear on that,” Bobby says, glowering from under the brim of his cap. “What kind of idjit do ya take me for?”

“One who has a history of being pretty darn useless when the shit hits the fan,” Rufus shoots back.

Mary finally steps in between them. “Okay, stow it you two. We’re _all_ going,” Mary says, setting a placating hand on Bobby’s shoulder, which earns an eyebrow raise from Rufus.

“Wait, hold on, are you two…” Rufus stammers then snaps his mouth closed.

“He has his charms,” Mary mutters and Rufus shakes his head in awe.

“Are we done bellyachin’? Daylights burning,” Bobby says.

Mary is about to answer when the sound of a door slamming cuts her off. They all turn to see a furious looking Jo striding towards them with Ellen racing behind.

“Joanna Beth you get your ass back in that room!”

“I’m going with you!” Jo cries, planting her feet and crossing her arms beside Mary’s Jeep. “I can _help_.”

“All we’re doing is talking to the man, we don’t need help from a seventeen year-old,” Ellen argues and Jo huffs in indignation.

“I’m the one that told you Sam might be around, I should be coming with you,” Jo hits back. “It’s not like it’s dangerous, Mom, _come on_.”

“It ain’t gonna be interesting either,” Ellen says. “I don’t see why you’re so dead set on this.”

“Because I never get to do anything,” Jo whines. “The only reason you brought me is to keep an eye on me, I know, but I just…please?”

Ellen looks hopelessly between her daughter and the others. Mary can read her thoughts clear as day, because she had this fight with Sam several dozen times, a few of which Ellen saw firsthand. Though the short leash she kept Sam on was obviously justified, and Mary would be lying if said she wasn’t considering locking him in his room until he’s thirty once she gets her hands on him.

“I don’t see why she can’t come,” Rufus chirps in and earns a level-five death glare from Ellen and a squeal of delight from Jo.

“Fine, she can ride with you two morons in back,” Ellen declares, shaking her head.

“What the hell did I do?” Bobby asks in annoyance.

“Oh I’m sure it was something,” Ellen mutters and takes her place in the front while Mary claims the driver’s seat.

Even though the Jeep is roomy, it’s close quarters, and the sight of Jo wedged between Rufus and Bobby in the back seat as they perfect their scowls is hysterical. They ride mostly in silence into the mountains until Rufus starts chattering, picking up the thread of a conversation Mary only half remembers from last night at the bar.

“How much further?” Jo asks petulantly to no one in particular an hour later. Mary rolls her eyes at the girl’s bored tone and clear discomfort. At least this will be a good lesson in ‘be careful what you wish for.’ They’re half a mile up a dirt track that forked off of a backwoods road. It’s the third such road they’ve been up today because Rufus keeps being sure each of them is the way to Elkins’ cabin.

“Not much,” Rufus answers. Mary watches in the rearview as he surveys the landscape and breaks into a grin. “That rock thing we just passed-looked sorta like half of an alpaca? I remember that, he’s only about half a mile up.”

“Are you _sure_?” Jo sneers back.

“About as sure as you seem to be you’re the only thinking person in this car, young lady,” Rufus snaps back and Bobby chuckles. Mary doesn’t expect Jo to even crack a smile, but one side of her mouth twitches up and something far too pleased sparkles in her eyes.

“Fucking _finally_ ,” Jo sighs.

Mary doesn’t even have time to think before the back doors blast open and both Bobby and Rufus are thrown out of the car on to the road. The steering wheel whips out of Mary’s hands, swerving the car directly into a tree with a deafening thump. The front of the Jeep buckles as smoke and fire explode from the engine bloc. Mary hears Ellen scream, feels the impact ring through her body. She looks up at Jo’s grinning face in the rearview mirror. Her eyes match the black that swallows Mary’s consciousness.


	12. I Wanna Hold Your Hand

**Athens, Ohio**

 

Castiel recognizes the bowlegged shadow on the playground sand in front of him before Dean has a chance to sigh or chastise him for leaving so abruptly. Part of him wants to keep his eyes down, to not look up into the face of the man he knows he must protect, and now also knows he cannot save. Against his best judgment, he looks up anyway. Dean stands between Castiel and the sun, but Castiel doesn’t feel like he’s in shadow looking at Dean.

“You know for a little while I was worried you’d fucked off to Timbuktu or something,” Dean says as he takes a seat next to Castiel on the park bench. He mimics Castiel’s posture, leaning his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands.

“I did as Anna asked and took her home,” Castiel tells him simply, his focus shifting back to the children at play on the swings and slide across from them.

“And then you decided you needed a play date?” There’s no malice in Dean’s tone. He just sounds tired. Far too tired for someone so young.

“I needed to clear my mind.” It’s true. The whole day has been strange in many ways, the least of which was Anna’s revelation. But he can’t even understand the things he’s been seeing or remembering himself, let alone put things into human language. Confessing them to Dean would be no use.

“Yeah, well, I get that,” Dean agrees, gentle. “Just glad you’re still sticking around.”

“I would never abandon you.”

“Yeah. Because some mysterious force commanded you to protect me,” Dean replies, and there’s bitterness in his tone.

“That was my initial reason for watching you, yes, but…” He hesitates. Self-examination has never been his strong suit. But Dean appreciates honesty, so he goes on. “My reasons evolved as I came to know you. Wanting to protect you now has nothing to do with that night and everything to do with you.”

“Uh, thanks, I guess.” Dean looks sidelong at Castiel who only can look down at the ground. “So. The apocalypse. You wanna give me some details on that?”

“What?”

“Like, how is it supposed to go down? Zombies? Ice Age? Meteor? Killer Bees?”  

Castiel scans Dean’s face for visible signs of a psychotic break. It would explain his nonchalance.

“The archangel Lucifer will be released from his cage in hell and will face his brother Michael in a battle that will decimate the entire planet.” Castiel watches that information sink in for Dean – a few moments of doubt that solidifies into resolve.

“Okay. Cool. The _actual devil_. Very Ozzy.” Castiel has no idea what that means but it seems to amuse Dean, or at least soothe him. “And how are Sam and I a part of that?”

“You two are fated to release Lucifer.”

Dean makes an incredulous face. “Cas, I know you don’t know Sam as well as me but…neither of us is really the ‘set the devil free’ type.”

“And your brother is very likely his angelic vessel,” Castiel pushes on and that gets a genuine reaction out of Dean as his face goes dark and serious.

“What about me?” Dean asks, making the next logical leap. “I’m a vessel right? You hopped a ride but I’m tailor-made for some other winged dick, aren’t I?”

“Michael,” Castiel answers quietly.

“The one who’s supposed to…”

“To kill Lucifer.” 

Dean falls back against the bench, shaking his head and looking sickened. Castiel wants to say something, to reach out to him or comfort him some way but he has nothing. He is almost overcome with a sense of inevitability, of familiar helplessness. It has to be worse for Dean, but his face is surprisingly resolved.

 “No,” Dean says firmly, taking Castiel aback. “No. I’m not gonna…let some angel ride me in the not-fun way just so that I can _kill Sam_.”

“There may not be much of a choice. This is long foretold.”

“Are you saying you’re okay with this?” Dean demands, grabbing Castiel’s shoulder and forcing him to look Dean in the face again. “Is that what Anna was talking about? Do you and your bros _want_ these assholes to roast the planet?”

“No, of course not,” Castiel says instantly, with feeling that surprises even him. “Dean…this world. These people…” He looks across the park to the children at play, the parents watching, the high schoolers stretched out on the grass, the old men sharing a game of chess. “My Father’s creation; it’s glorious.” He looks back to Dean, feels the unwavering heat of his touch on his shoulder, and the reverence he feels increases immeasurably. “It’s beautiful. I don’t want to see it destroyed.”

“Okay good, cause it’s not gonna be,” Dean says, eyes bright with hope that startles Castiel.

“Dean, this is _destiny_. This is the end of a story God himself wrote long ago. There’s no choice here.”

“There is always a choice,” Dean snaps and Castiel blinks in fresh astonishment at the man’s conviction.

“Dean…”

“No, screw destiny, or fate or whatever,” Dean goes on, his hand sliding down Castiel’s arm and squeezing his wrist. “You already fucked with it once, right? That night when you woke me up. That wasn’t supposed to happen, but you did it anyway. No, don’t argue. It happened and if you can change that, _we_ can change anything. If the damn apocalypse is gonna come down to me and Sam, then it ain’t happening because that is _my_ choice.”

Castiel can do nothing but stare, trying to comprehend the human in front of him. Again the echoing sense of familiarity grips him, makes the world tilt slightly, but that itself is not of import. All that matters is the certainty that he feels when he looks at Dean Winchester.

“You really believe that?” Castiel asks quietly.

“I gotta believe something,” Dean answers with a shrug. “So, are you with me?”

Castiel feels something tighten in his chest, which is strange because there is nothing physically wrong with his vessel. But the feeling is still there, heavy and nearly vibrating with warmth and certainty. “Until the end.”

Dean smiles.  “Then let’s get moving.”

 

**Manning, Colorado**

 

Mary registers groaning beside her before the pain really wakes her up. The last thing she remembers is driving in the woods. Heading to Elkins. Right. And Jo complaining and…

 _Oh God_.

Mary blinks at the too-bright sun, trying to get her bearings and make sense of the heat on her face. Another moan comes from beside her as everything comes into focus and she sees the flaming engine block, then Ellen slumped half-conscious in the passenger seat. Mary pushes through the pain in her chest as she unbuckles the seatbelt that probably caused most of it and scrambles out of and around the car.

“Ellen, come on, you’re okay, stay with me.” Mary hauls the other woman from the ruined Jeep. “Come on, honey, you’re tougher than this.”

“Jo…” Ellen whispers, eyes still closed as Mary props her against a tree.

“She’s okay,” Mary lies, her heart racing as she looks around to find where Bobby and Rufus were thrown. “You stay here.” Ellen gives another moan as Mary jumps back up and starts back down the road. The sight of Bobby limping up through the dirt fills her with relief, even though there’s a gash on his forehead. He’s alive, that’s all that matters.

“What the hell – ow, fuck,” Bobby grunts as Mary hugs him with too much force.

“Jo.” Mary draws back and winces.

“What?”

“She’s possessed, Bobby, I should have…” Mary bites back the litany of things she should have done. “Where’s Rufus?”

“I think he’s back a way. Mary, this ain’t…”

“Go find him. Ellen’s up against a tree just up the road, the car is fucked. I’m going up to the cabin.” Mary turns to run, not waiting for Bobby to argue like she knows he will. She doesn’t have time for that. She doesn’t have time to grab a weapon either, not that it’s going to matter. She doesn’t have time for fear or panic. All she can do is run and pray that that some of Elkins defenses slowed the demon down. She jumps two trip lines and sees at least one arrow lodged in the ground. A scream of pain from ahead makes Mary jump and quicken her pace, adrenaline pumping through her. 

Another scream comes, wordless and anguished just as the cabin comes in sight, door off its hinges. It sounds like a man. Mary runs faster and she hears pained babbling and begging on top of that cruel laughter and impatient commands. The demon has Elkins.

“Are you going to cooperate now, Daniel?” Mary hears Jo’s voice demand while she sneaks up the front stair. Elkins only gives another cry, and Mary hears a squelching noise that makes her stomach turn. She presses herself against the outer wall and tries to look in. Jo has Elkins by the nape of his neck, long cuts all over his body. “I can’t open that nice safe of yours all by my lonesome and I don’t have a lot of time to waste.”

“Go to hell, demon bitch,” Elkins gurgles through the blood in his mouth. That earns him another slice from the hunting knife in the demon’s hand.

“That’s sort of the point, Danny boy,” the demon sneers. “Guess we’re doing this the hard way.”

Elkin’s cry of protest is drowned out by the roar of black smoke exiting Jo’s mouth and pouring into him. Jo collapses to the ground as Elkins sits up unnaturally straight then moves to the safe. Smoke rises from Elkin’s hands as he enters the combination, face twisted in pain and determination. The safe door springs open and the demon grins before throwing back Elkins’ head and leaving his body.

Mary bites back a scream of her own as the thing retakes Jo, who rises up like she’s on a string as soon as the demon is back in her. The demon doesn’t even spare Elkins a glance as she buries the hunting knife in his heart, more intent on the box she removes from the safe. Mary blinks back furious tears as the thing smiles at its prize.

“You can come out now, Mary,” the demon calls and honestly Mary isn’t even surprised.

“Get out of her, you fucker,” Mary commands, stepping through the door and glaring at the demon. “Take me instead, okay? Just let Jo go.”

“Aw, that is so sweet,” the demon purrs. “But that’s impossible, even without that fancy tramp stamp you got. Anyway, I like this body. Has a certain ironic charm. Your son and his friend took out my brother, and since little Sammy is off limits, I figure surrogate little sis is a fair trade. Course, maybe Dean-o was getting back at me for killing your dad, so…who knows.”

Mary’s stomach lurches. Demons lie, she knows this, but if this is the same thing that Dean just faced, that killed her father…

“You get the hell out of my daughter.” They both turn to see Ellen leaning on the door, gun aimed at Jo.

“What are you gonna do, shoot me?” the demon laughs. “You know that’d kill your lil’ Joanna Beth. She’s still alive in here for now. Screaming. But we have so much more to do, she and I, so much for you all to bear witness to.”

“Jo, baby, listen to me, we’re gonna get you out of there!” Ellen yells as the wind suddenly picks up.

“Daddy’s calling,” the demon grins, glancing to the wooden box in her hands. “Got a delivery to make. I’ll say hi to Sam for you both.”

“No!” Mary screams uselessly as the wind becomes a tempest. Before her eyes Jo’s form dissolves into black smoke then vanishes. The wind stops the instant the demon is gone and Mary runs to catch Ellen as she collapses into furious sobs. They sink to the floor, Mary’s own tears stinging her eyes. New footsteps approach up the path. It’s enough of a small miracle to see Bobby supporting a very alive Rufus that it keeps Mary from breaking entirely.

They approach the women wordlessly, Bobby helping Mary up and pulling her into an embrace and Rufus taking over with Ellen. She has no idea how long they stand there, weeping, but eventually she pulls away, roughly wiping the moisture from her face.

“They’ve got the Colt,” Mary says. “And they have our kids. The same bastards that have been after me for thirty goddamn years are finally making their move. If I die trying, we are getting Jo and Sam back and we’re going to stop them.”

“That’s inspiring, really, but how the hell are we gonna even start?” Rufus asks back.

Mary sets her jaw and looks from him to Bobby then to Ellen. “Well, apparently Dean knows someone who can kill demons, so I’m thinking we start with him.”

 

**St. Louis, Missouri**

 

It’s late. It started raining halfway through Illinois. Traffic got terrible even before that, even with Dean keeping to backroads. And the Biggersons they stopped at for dinner had the slowest service in the Midwest, but Cas got his burger and a mountain of fries, so that was fine. But it’s already ten pm when they pull into the World’s Fair Inn and Dean blearily asks the clerk for a room. He’s pretty much ready to sleep forever, or even just welcome a few blessed hours without the fact that _he and Sam are supposed to end the world_ ringing through his head.

“Are you sure we should be stopping?” Cas asks as Dean gets back in the car to drive them the short distance from check-in to the room.

“I’m sure I’m gonna crash the car if I have to drive any more tonight. And no, you don’t get to drive.”

“I do understand the basic concept, Dean, and I still have access to Jimmy’s muscle memory…”

“Okay, that’s just weird.” Dean effectively ends the discussion by turning off the car and heading into the room. It’s not until he throws his duffle on the floor that he realizes Cas didn’t follow him in. Dean returns to the Impala to find Cas leaning against the passenger door, eye closed and facing turned up to the drizzling rain. “What the hell, man?”

“I know this isn’t dancing, but I believe the core of your suggestion was to experience rain more fully,” Cas explains, turning to look at Dean, who just gawks at him like an idiot. What’s he supposed to do, though? _Tell_ Cas he has raindrops on his fucking eyelashes and water dripping off his nose? The guy probably knows that and wouldn’t even get why it’s distracting. Oh and his shirt is getting wet too. That’s just…awesome. So is the way Cas is smiling and how it seems to lift a bit of the weight off Dean’s soul. “You’re right, this is nice,” Cas declares.

“Hot showers are even better,” Dean says, sounding every bit like the dazed moron he is right now. Cas, of course, smiles at that and heads into the room past Dean.

Dean follows him in, fishing his phone out of his pocket to check it for the hundredth time. He left five messages with Mom in the last three hours and he’s trying not to freak out. Or, technically, not add to the freaking out he’s been doing for the last few days. Which is sort of working. It’s weird, actually, at a certain point after hearing the word “apocalypse” Dean feels like he reached peak nervous breakdown and since then he’s just…kept on moving. Sure he’s still in a constant state of panic but he’s found a good balance between obsessing about Cas, worrying about his missing family, and contemplating looming world destruction. Sure maybe Cas is easier to focus on because he’s real and there and not in imminent peril and right there next to him and _taking off his shirt_.

“Wha-what are you doing!?” Dean wheezes. He doesn’t know if he should look away or what cause it’s not like Cas minds if Dean checks him out, but Cas probably doesn’t even know what checking someone out _is_. The better angels of Dean’s nature don’t win and he stares at the expanse of skin.

“I was going to take a shower, as you suggested,” Cas answers, tossing the shirt he’s been wearing for the last thirty-six hours beside Dean’s duffle. Of course the next thing he does is go for his fly and Dean finally tears himself away from staring at Cas’s (Jimmy’s? _Shit._ ) chest and spins away.

“Jesus! Fine, just…get naked in the bathroom!” Dean snaps a bit too forcefully. Cas makes a sort of uninterested hum and a second later Dean hears the bathroom door click closed. Dean falls back on to the bed – the only one in the room because Cas doesn’t sleep and that is the story Dean’s sticking to – and scrubs a hand over his face as he listens to the water start.

“Stop thinking about this,” he orders himself out loud. He looks at the phone in his hand and hits speed dial one again. Of course it goes directly to voicemail.

“ _You know who this is if you have this number. Leave a message._ ” Nice and succinct, Mom.

“Hey. Yeah, it’s Dean. Again,” Dean begins weakly. “Still got, uh, a lot to talk to you about. Hope you’re busy kicking Sammy’s ass…uh…” _because he’s gonna need it since, surprise, he’s a vessel for Lucifer. Yeah, vessels, angels, all real. Including the one that you all said was an imaginary friend. Yup. Cas. The same one I’ve got a weird crush on, cause I’m an idiot, but the bigger issue here is the apocalypse._ “Call back as soon as you get this, okay? Love you.” Dean ends the call and tosses the phone onto the bedside table. “Fuck.”

The sound of water streaming through old pipes is the only noise in the room and Dean finally gives in and lets himself imagine, just a bit, what Cas is doing. God, what does a first hot shower _ever_ even feel like? He can very clearly imagine hot water sliding over that beautiful chest he was just ogling, Cas’s long hands following…down. Would he…? No. Cas has been in there a while but not quite as suspiciously long as Dean this morning… _And_ _that is not what we’re thinking about._ Except it is and Dean’s pretty sure that’s already like four different sins right there and his dick, which if it’s possible is even dumber than he is, doesn’t care right now.

“Not the time, not the time, not the time,” he mutters, rolling over onto his stomach to get a bit of pressure, He tries to replace images of naked Cas enjoying himself with mental pictures of the time he walked in on Mom and Bobby making out in the kitchen. That does it for a second until somehow it turns into a picture of him and Cas in the kitchen, Dean pressing Cas against the counters and…Dean rolls his hip involuntarily and gives a little groan. God, imaginary him is kissing Cas now and real him is wondering if Cas’s lips are as soft as they look.

“Dean? Are you alright?” Cas’s voice asks from a foot behind Dean.

Dean’s body does something between a roll, a jump and an attempt to hide what’s happening in his pants that results in Dean falling unceremoniously off the bed. “Holy shit do not sneak up on me like that!”

“I’m sorry, I heard your prayer,” Cas says. It takes Dean a little while to process that because, while Cas thankfully did catch on to the correct uses of towels, he’s still _just wearing a towel_ and the most embarrassing boner in the history of creation just got even more encouragement.

“You heard my – my _what_?” Dean stammers, heart still racing as he tries, very unsuccessfully, to rise from the floor with some dignity. “I was _not_ praying.”

“It doesn’t have to be a formal prayer,” Cas explains kindly, completely oblivious to Dean’s various states of mortification. “Angels can pick up on longing, though proximity is a factor in some situations.”

“I was just…I didn’t…” Nope. Dean is not ready for this conversation at all. “I’m taking a shower.”

“But you took one this morning,” Cas argues as Dean heads past him to the bathroom, running into the table in his attempt not to touch the wet, naked angel of the Lord in his way.

“I…still feel dirty,” Dean says before he can stop himself, then slams the door of the bathroom shut and fights the urge to bang his head against it.

“Let me know if you need anything,” Cas says from the other side of the door, his voice deep and rich and kind.

“Sure thing, Cas,” Dean replies, sounding very much like a cat getting strangled.

He strips quickly and jumps in the shower, turning on the water as cold as he can stand. It does absolutely nothing to help the hard-on issue. In fact, thinking about occupying the space where Cas was just naked makes it worse. Fuck. Dean switches the water to scalding and gives up. He grabs his idiot dick and tells himself that he’s gotten off to much worse than things than the thought of a naked…friend before. This is just to clear his mind or whatever and he’s not going to hell for this in particular.

He really should not think about if Cas would judge him for this, if Cas suspects, if Cas would be curious if he knew that Dean was jacking off three feet and one wall away. What had Cas said about being able to perform any normal human functions? Oh, what Dean’s doing now would certainly be something he needs to experience. And Dean could be very…helpful. Dean speeds up his strokes at that thought, images of what he could help Cas experience cascading through his head, and comes seconds later. The speed of it all would be embarrassing if he weren’t desperate to get the sinning out of the way before hitting the hay with the object of said sin watching over him.

Dean towels off and mentally chastises himself for not bringing clothes with him to change into. Thankfully when he’s out Cas is dressed again, having stolen a different tee shirt (Duran Duran this time). He’s engrossed in the little pay-per-view card from on top of the TV and Dean only turns slightly red as he whips on boxers and a tee shirt.

“So, uh, I’m going to sleep,” Dean says. “If you wanna watch TV or whatever, it won’t bug me. But, yeah, tired and shit so…”

“Get some rest, Dean,” Cas commands, with firmness that makes Dean really happy he took care of things in the shower. “I’ll watch over you.”

“Yeah,” Dean murmurs, settling onto the bed but not taking his eyes off Cas. “Thanks for sticking around.”

“There’s nowhere else I would rather be,” Cas replies, eyes heart-stoppingly sincere. Dean can only nod and sink back onto the pillow. Maybe it’s the rushed orgasm or the exhaustion or maybe it’s a bit of Cas’s mojo, but Dean slips into unconsciousness in seconds.

 

**Tuesday, June 11, 2002**

4:16 A.M.

 

Castiel wakes with a shock, not just from the noise that startles him to consciousness, but from the fact that he was asleep at all. An hour or so after Dean had fallen asleep he’d moved to the empty side of the bed beside him, mostly to have a better view of the television but also because the mattress was more comfortable than the chair and the warmth radiating from Dean’s sleeping form, as well as the sound of his breathing, was quite pleasant. The last thing he remembers is wondering if his blade could cut through aluminum cans as easily as the knife being advertised on the television. Then…confused images of oily blackness overtaking him, and Dean’s pained face. He’s glad the sound of Dean’s phone ringing had interrupted the dream, though he remains confused and disturbed by it on several levels.

“Dean,” Castiel murmurs, nudging him in the blue glow of the television. Dean gives a small grunt and burrows into the pillow further as the phone continues to ring. “Dean,” Castiel repeats, louder, shaking Dean by the shoulder and leaning closer. Finally the man’s eyes blink open and he smiles warmly at Castiel for a fraction of a second before jumping up and away.

“What the hell are you doing!?” Dean scrambles to untangle himself from the sheets, a task made more awkward by the fact Castiel is on top of half of them.

“I…I thought you would want to know your phone was ringing?”

“My – what – no – why are you on the bed?” Dean stammers and Castiel stares at him, marking his elevated pulse and the flush in his cheeks.

“I was watching television and I –”

The phone, which had paused its noise for a few moments, begins jingling again.

“Shit,” Dean mutters, rubbing his eyes and fumbling for the tiny plastic thing. “What fucking time is it – Mom?”

“Where the hell are you?” Mary Winchester’s voice sounds over the line, shrill and panicked.

“Me? I called you like six times!”

“My phones was out of commission,” Mary snaps, clearly out of patience. “Things are bad, Dean. We need you. Now.”

“Bad?” Dean sits up straighter and goes pale. “What’s going on? Did you find Sam?”

“No.” Even muffled against Dean’s ear and separated from them by so many miles, the defeat in Mary’s voice is chilling. “And now they…they have Jo.”

“ _What_?” Dean barks, jumping from the bed and starting towards his bag. Castiel has no idea what he’s supposed to be doing to help but he stands as well anyway.

“She was…is possessed,” Mary tells Dean. He looks like he might be ill, and Castiel himself feels guilt and unease seeping through his grace and vessel.

“No,” Dean whispers.

“Dean, it’s the same demon that killed your grandfather. It said you and your friend had killed its brother?” Mary goes on and Castiel closes his eyes on a new wave of despair. He remembers Jo Harvelle with her golden hair and sparkling soul.

“Meg,” Dean mutters. “That bitch.”

“What?” Mary asks.

“The demon, that’s her name. I should have told you…” Castiel opens his eyes to see Dean pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes screwed shut. “Are you still in Colorado? What the hell happened with the Colt?”

“She took it – Meg - killed Elkins. We took a bit of damage but everyone else is fine,” Mary relays. “We just made it to the Roadhouse to grab Ringo and see if Ash can help at all. Now tell when where in god’s name you are.”

“Uh, St. Louis,” Dean replies, bracing his phone between his cheek and shoulder as he wriggles into his jeans.

“Why the hell are you in St. Louis? Are you still traveling with that other hunter, who you neglected to tell me had a way of _killing demons_?”

Dean looks over at Castiel, face helpless. “We were in Ohio, and uh…It’s complicated. I’ll explain when I introduce him,” Dean tells her as he pulls on his socks and boots. “Can we meet you at Bobby’s? We got like…nine hours and we’re there.”

“Fine, just…get there fast.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Dean shakes his head as he ends the call and Castiel can see unshed tears glistening in his eyes. He sits on the edge of the bed, his breathing labored.

Castiel has watched humans long enough to know this is the sort of moment to offer comfort. He thinks of Dean’s hand on his yesterday, the way it had tethered him to the world in the face of Anna’s rage. Laying a hand on Dean’s shoulder feels natural, familiar even. The way Dean looks up at him at the touch, heartbroken and grateful, makes the world refocus.

“I’m sorry for your friend,” Castiel murmurs, though it isn’t exactly what he wants to say or convey. He has no idea how to put that feeling into words.

“We’re gonna get her back, and I am gonna skewer that Meg bitch myself,” Dean says, face and voice hardening with resolve. “Come on, we got a drive ahead of us.”

 

**The Roadhouse, Nebraska**

 

The mood when Mary emerges from the office is grim. Bobby and Rufus are at the bar, a bottle of Johnny Walker in front of them. Ellen’s at the corner table with Ash, who’s tapping away at his computer like his life depends on it. Ringo pads beside Mary as she walks among the empty tables to her regular booth and sinks down. It’s awkward, because her ribs are bruised and Ringo is pretty much a thirty-five pound watermelon covered with fur, but Mary lifts the dog into her lap and starts to pet him. He gives her a consoling lick to her chin.

“Sorry we didn’t listen to you, boy,” Mary mutters into his fur as she nuzzles her nose into the top of his head and some of the pain seems to ebb.

“How is that thing still alive?” Rufus asks, voice a bit slurred from the exhaustion, whiskey and probably the pain meds too.

“I ask that all the time,” Bobby says.

“Seventeen isn’t that old for a dog,” Mary argues, even though it’s not true. “Especially one that can find bodies and sense demons.”

“Yeah, that ain’t normal,” Rufus mutters.

Mary holds Ringo tighter. She thinks back to all the friends of Sam’s, neighbors and random passersby the little creature had driven away. He survived the attack the night Dad and Bill died. Hell, he’d saved Dean the first day the kid had found him.

“You aren’t normal, are you, boy?” Mary asks the dog softly and, maybe she’s hallucinating from the exhaustion, but she swears he shakes his head.

“When are we heading out?” Ellen asks the room, standing up so abruptly Ash jumps.

“ _We_ ain’t doing anything,” Bobby counters. “You’re staying here and working your network and supervising this one,” Bobby gestures at Ash who gives a salute.

“The hell I am,” Ellen growls. “My _kid_ is out there, Bobby.”

“And so is mine,” Bobby shoots back and Mary’s heart jumps. “Sam may not be my blood, but he’s family. Just like Jo. And we’re gonna save them, but not by charging of half-cocked. We don’t even know where to –”

“Wyoming.” Everyone turns to look at Ash, who looks at the hunters like they missed something obvious. “Something big, bad and ugly is going down in Wyoming. Omens all over.”

“You mean back in the direction we just came from? Wonderful,” Rufus huffs.

“Which is why someone has to stay here,” Mary says. She rises and lets Ringo plop to the ground. “Dean said he’s about nine hours from Sioux Falls. We’re about five away here so I’m gonna knock out for four and when I’m up you two better be sober and ready to go.”

Mary doesn’t wait for the argument, just strides out of the bar. Ringo manages to hop up on the cot beside her when she lays down, snuffling and wiggling until his head is under her arm. She’s glad of it, hopes that maybe having him there will help her sleep when there’s so much horribleness to worry about. He gives her one more lick and the world washes away.

 

**Omaha, Nebraska**

 

Dean squints at his watch after he puts up the gas pump. He can’t tell if it’s nine or ten and he’s also not sure if he’s remembered to reset it for all the time zones he’s hopped across in the last few days. He can sympathize with the thing, really. Everything that’s happened…he barely has any idea what’s up or down right now. They left the rain in Missouri, apparently. The landscape around the little, near-deserted Gas-n-Sip outside of Omaha is flat and bright. It makes Dean’s skin crawl to look out on a world that’s still peaceful and quiet, cars moving along the highway like nothing’s happening, like the people Dean loves aren’t sitting right on the mouth of Hell.

“Dean?” Cas calls behind him, and Dean shakes himself out of his thoughts. He turns to see Cas with his arms loaded with soda and snacks. “I wasn’t sure what to buy, your only specification was caffeine and carbohydrates.”

“Yeah it was,” Dean mutters with a lopsided smile, grabbing onto the surge of affection he’s feeling and holding on like it’s a life raft. He relieves Cas of the packs of cookies, chips and a dubious looking muffin and drops them into Baby before taking the four different types of soda. “Good work, buddy.” Dean cringes internally as he dumps the sodas into the back. _Buddy?_ Who says that?

“I’m glad I can be of some help.” Cas looks way too thoughtful and guilty for Dean’s comfort.

“Cas, you are. I’d be going nuts now without you. Just by being here you’re helping. And even if you weren’t that’s not what–”

“I could do more,” Cas says and gives Dean a worrying look. “I would just have to…return to heaven.”

“No.” Dean’s heart starts to race and his stomach gives a turn. “Out of the question. Cas that’s…why would you want to do that?”

“Dean, there’s more I need to learn, I know it,” Cas declares, voice uncharacteristically shaky. “I keep experiencing…moments; It’s like I’ve done something before or I’m seeing through to something else.”

“What like déjà vu?” Dean balks. “Everyone gets that!”

“Not _angels_.” Cas looks down, like he’s working up to saying something else that Dean knows he isn’t going to like. “Dean, what I did that night; it didn’t just interfere with your destiny…it sent ripples of change through _time_. Both ways. We - _I_ need to know what that means.”

“By letting some winged dicks torture you?!” Out of the corner of Dean’s eye he sees the single employee stationed inside at the counter glance at them. “Cas, that could be suicide!” Dean adds, lowering his voice but still vehement.

“They won’t kill me,” Cas says firmly. “If I beg forgiveness, they may be merciful. And I have to believe heaven wants to save this world.”

“But Anna said-”

“Anna was…rebellious.” Cas still very pointedly refuses to look at Dean, who blinks in shock. “And subversive, always was. She allowed herself to doubt, to… _feel_ too much and it lead to her mistakes.”

“No, no, wait, hold up,” Dean growls, grabbing Cas’s arm and shaking him. He pushes away the shockwave that touching Cas’s skin sends through him, because it’s really not the time. Accept maybe it is because Cas looks shaken by the touch as well. “Anna wasn’t a liar because she had feelings. Cas, _you_ have feelings.”

“ _If_ I return to heaven and show that I have not been corrupted, I may be able to convince them…”

“ _Corrupted_?” Dean repeats far too loudly, and the attendant gives them another look. “Is that what you think about being on earth? About being around me? That the fact you have emotions is…tainting you with, what? Human-ness?”

“Angels don’t feel the way humans do, Dean. We shouldn’t,” Cas argues and he finally looks up at Dean. He can see in Cas’s eyes how little the angel believes what he’s saying, but for some reason he’s clinging on to it.

“Cas, don’t fucking tell me you don’t _feel_ ,” Dean pushes, pulse racing and face flushing. “I’ve seen you guilty. I’ve seen you angry and happy and sad. Those are feelings, emotions. And they’re not bad.” Cas tries to look away again, but Dean catches his cheek with his free hand, forcing Cas to meet his eyes. “You want to save us because you _care_.”

“The angel’s mission was to protect humanity,” Cas murmurs, even as he leans into Dean’s touch in a way that makes Dean’s heart pound even harder. “I’m only -”

“Bullshit,” Dean snaps. “You and I know that’s not the only reason you hang around. And don’t give me any crap about what it _should_ be. Don’t lie to me. Please.” Cas’s eyes remain locked to Dean’s, a challenge and a prayer at the same time. “I _know_ you feel…everything.”

“Dean –” Dean doesn’t let Cas get out another protest, just surges forwards and kisses him.

Admittedly, it’s a dumb move. It’s several kinds of stupid, some varieties of which Dean might be inventing right there on the spot. But holy shit, Dean does not care because Cas doesn’t pull away. Instead he gives a little gasp of shock and tilts his head automatically so Dean can kiss him more deeply. And, oh god, it’s good. Cas’s lips are dry until Dean licks against them, and they’re plush and soft and his breath is hot and everything is electric around them and Cas moves his mouth tentatively against Dean’s and something above them explodes.

Dean pulls back first, because that wasn’t a metaphorical explosion. The Gas-N-Sip’s neon lights have _actually_ exploded and when did the car start? Cas stares at Dean with wide, shocked eyes, as if just now he’s realizing what Dean’s done and what it means.

“Holy –” before Dean can even swear Cas is gone with a gust of wind and the sound of wings. Dean spins, searching for him as the attendant runs out, yelling something Dean can’t even care about. “ _Shit_.”


	13. Could it be Anybody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some content I want to warn for, so as to avoid spoilers, the warnings are in the end note.

**Rock Springs, Wyoming**

 

“You two want the usual?” Janine, the waitress that has served Sam and Ava their last three meals at the Honking Ham diner asks. Her nicotine soaked voice sounds a like rusty farm machine and her face is so over-tanned that she looks a bit like a baseball mitt. The real kicker is the rose tattoo that peeks out from her low-cut white shirt.

“I think I’ll get the salad instead of fries today,” Sam answers.

“Same for me,” Ava replies with a smile. Janine grins back with brown-stained teeth and leaves them.

“I’m gonna start needing cholesterol meds on the side if we’re stuck eating here another day,” Sam mutters.

“Come on, it’s not that bad,” Ava says unconvincingly. Sam can tell she’s getting just as antsy as he is to leave, even though she hasn’t mentioned it. He caught her up in the middle of the night talking on the phone to someone she said was an East coast friend she needed to check in with and she’s been bugging the mechanics about the car constantly. Still, she puts on a smile for Sam. “At least we’ve been having fun working it off,” she adds with a suggestive smile, nudging Sam with her shoulder as he blushes.

“I’m just glad you still want to hang around me,” Sam mutters. “Knowing that I’m a…”

“A hero?” Ava finishes and Sam shakes his head.

“A freak.”

Ava rolls her eyes and gives Sam a playful shove. “What you and your family do is amazing, Sam. Just like you,” she tells him and his cheeks get redder. “I know you want to get out of it but…what you’ve done, what you can do? It’s pretty cool.”

“They barely let me out of the house,” Sam counters.

“Then maybe the solution to the issues you guys have isn’t running away to school.” Sam only has a second to stare at Ava before his attention is drawn to a very familiar blonde head of hair walking into the diner.

“Crap,” Sam mutters, looking around for somewhere to run, but it’s too late.

“Sam!” Jo hollers, her face filling with joy and relief as she runs towards their table. Sam is barely standing before she tackles him into a hug. “Thank fuck, we’ve been looking everywhere!”

“How the hell did you find me?” Sam asks in shock.

“Oh, Bobby’s got a solution for everything,” Jo says. “We all split up.”

“This a friend of yours?” Ava asks, eyebrow raised at the girl that’s practically in Sam’s lap. Jo falls back and looks Ava up and down with a disapproving sneer.

“I’m family,” Jo says tartly. “And I’m here to bring Sam home.”

“Jo…”

“Sam doesn’t want to go home,” Ava interrupts, eyes narrowing at Jo who huffs in offence.

“Listen, girlie, I know you’re think you’re being a friend and all, but there’s lots of shit you don’t know,” Jo practically growls.

“Oh, you mean about monsters?" Ava shoots back without batting an eye. Sam hasn’t seen Jo look this shocked since she was eleven and Sam beat her at darts for the first time.

“You told her?” Jo asks, turning back to Sam.

“Yeah.” Sam feels like he’s committed a crime.

“So then she knows that you’re number one on Hell’s Christmas list?” Jo pushes on and Sam nods grimly. “How about the part where the bastard looking for you is same demon that murdered our dads?” Sam blinks at Jo, and nods again, earning a scoff while Ava gives her a smug smile. “And you still think it’s okay to just fuck off when the battle of your life in just about to start.”

“What are you talking about?” Sam asks.

“Well, technically they don’t want you or me to know cause we’re just dumb kids,” Jo mutters, her voice dripping with some of the same bitterness he’d heard from her last week at the Roadhouse, but now with more of an edge.

“Who are ‘they’?” Ava asks incredulously. “Your families?”

“Sam, can we talk somewhere private? This is important stuff.”

“Anything you have to say Ava can hear, okay,” Sam says, straightening up in his chair.

Jo scowls and plops down at the table, letting the messenger bag she’s carrying fall from her shoulder.  “Fine. But try not to make a scene; okay?”

“Why would I –” Sam cuts himself off as Jo nudges him and shows him the contents of the bag under the table. It’s a gun. A very old, engraved gun. Sam blinks. “Is that…”

“Yup. Turns out your mom found it in Oregon,” Jo mutters. “Left it in our safe.”

“She wouldn’t…how could she not tell us?” Sam asks numbly. He’s been saying for years they should find the Colt and just take out the demon that wants him, but he’d always been shot down. Mom said it was too dangerous and Dean would rather look for fucking angels.

“Not tell _you_ , you mean,” Jo counters. “Dean knew. Called and asked for it as soon as he figured you’d bolted.”

“Why?”

“Sam what’s going on? What is that?” Ava asks, leaning over Sam to look in the bag. “Holy shit is that a –”

Sam grabs Ava’s hand to silence her, sending her a pleading look. “Yes, but it’s not just any…” He lowers his voice, glancing around the crowded restaurant as Jo closes the bag. “Any gun.”

“It can kill anything, so they say, including demons,” Jo explains and manages to make it sound like a threat.

“Why do you have it?” Sam asks before Ava can.

“Because I was pissed!” Jo snarls. “The demon killed my dad too, Sam. We’re the ones that should get to even the score.”

“Jo, what are you talking about?” Sam’s heart is starting to race as he begins to suspect what Jo is really here for.

“You know how I said we all split up to find you? It’s cause we couldn’t pin you down…or they couldn’t. Or I sorta…sent them to Colorado,” Jo confesses quickly and Sam isn’t sure if he’s mad or relieved. “So that _we_ could take this fucker out.”

“Are you _nuts_?” Sam hisses. “Jo, even with that gun, this thing is seriously dangerous.”

“Which is why I have a plan,” Jo replies, rolling her eyes. “Or, the start of one. Kinda, uh, need some help.”

“Jo, what-” Sam stops as Jo once again reaches into her bag and this time pulls out a worn leather tome. It’s too flimsy to be a book, though it looks old. “Is that a journal?”

“It’s one of Colt’s, found it with the gun. He had a way of summoning and trapping demons,” Jo begins and she can’t keep the excitement out of her voice. “And he did it right here in Wyoming.”

“It’s sort of a big state,” Ava comments and Jo shoots her a look. “And by the way, Sam didn’t say he’s helping.”

Sam looks at Ava and then at the journal in Jo’s hand. “Ava, isn’t this what you were just talking about? Proving myself to them _and_ making sure I’m safe?”

“By trying to kill a demon?” Ava whispers furiously. “Sam you’ll get yourself killed!”

Sam almost says she sounds like his mom, but the words die on his tongue. “You don’t have to help me,” he tells her instead.

“Like hell I don’t,” Ava replies immediately and Jo actually looks impressed. “Emphasis on the hell part, apparently. And my car is still in the shop so I’m stuck with you guys anyway.”

“Well, that’s a vote of confidence,” Jo sighs. “But I guess you can stick around. I’m sure we’ll find something for you.”

“I’m sure you will, Sister,” Ava smirks and Sam is pleased to see Jo actually crack a smile. They look hopeful and it helps Sam ignore the nervousness and fear that’s practically vibrating under his skin. He can do this. He’s going to end this.

 

**Somewhere in the Rockies, Colorado**

 

Castiel kneels down and plunges his hands into the snow at his feet. It’s granular, icy and coarse, and has been at the top of this mountain for months. It’s not the fresh, soft snow that Jimmy loved to watch fall in Illinois or the kind Dean dreamed of with longing so many times in California. But Castiel can still feel the cold that seeps through his skin. He can feel the roughness, like sand but smoother. He can feel the frigid, thin air in his lungs and it hurts. It is nothing like the sterile peace of heavens that did not belong to him. It all hurts.

He stands up abruptly, caught in between the impulse to push away the pain and feelings, and the desire to…to what? Feel _more_? Surrender to it? Enjoy it? That would be the very definition of insanity: doing something he knows will hurt and then doing it again.

He runs his hand over rough rock, exposed where the snows have melted away in the June sun. The sky above is a brilliant blue and the Rocky Mountains around him cut jagged against it in grey and white. He’s not even at the highest peak; there are others, towering above him and even though his true form, if released, could touch them all easily, it makes him feel small. Not just in awe at his father’s creation, but minuscule and fragile and human. Part of it, rather than an observer.

He takes another quivering breath and slams his fist into the rock. It shudders and cracks just like the skin on his knuckles. The pain shoots through him, reminding him how foolish and lost and irreparably _alive_ he is in this moment. Reminds him that nothing, not the pain or the sky or warm water washing over his skin or the scent of the sun on a dry field or the taste of the sea even comes close to Dean and how he…

Castiel reins in the urge to fly again at the memory. It wasn’t a good solution then and it’s not going to do anything to help the situation now. Still, he considers it. Kissing Dean…That had been another feeling that all rationality and his very nature tells him to recoil from. It was beyond pleasure or pain, though the physical aspect of being kissed had certainly been pleasurable. But the emotion was white-hot and sudden and blinding. How could he not have fled from shock like that? Why shouldn’t he keep running now?

Castiel looks down at the vivid red blood on his knuckles. He is probably not handling this situation well by staying away. But he has no idea what to do. There are no commands to follow here, nothing to guide him. For the first time since he left Dean years ago, he wishes he could pray to his Father. There had never been an answer, of course, but it had always consoled him simply to believe someone could listen.

Instead he just sits, tries to find some calm in the relative quiet of the mountains, alone with just the sound of wind and melting snow. The silence doesn't last long.

 _Cas, uh, I don’t know if this will work but…fuck it._ Castiel smiles automatically at the echo of Dean's prayer in his mind and grace. _It’s been like two hours and I wanted to, I don’t know, give you space but I’m almost at Bobby’s and I’m trying not to freak out, but it’s sort of hard._ The actual words stop for a while, even as the pull of longing behind the prayer surges in a way that makes some intangible part of Castiel ache. _Look, I’m sorry for crossing a line to make the point but…I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say or what I’m supposed to think cause you’re not here and not talking to me so, just…Please come back. Soon? I still can’t do this without you. We gotta find Sam and Jo and…I just need you. Please._

Castiel closes his eyes. Not that it really changes much. He can still feel the pull to Dean, still hear and see the ether, though it is dimmer and quieter than the last time he looked. That too is concerning, the same way that the need to breathe and the distant gnawing within his vessel that he suspects may actually be hunger are. He could tell himself that what he… _feels_ is simply an effect of his waning grace, but he doesn’t want to lie to himself. The guilt, the pain, the doubt, the desire to protect Dean, the affection; all of that is as old as his exile. Older even, though that makes no sense. The urge to run to Dean and away at the same time feels like it will tear him apart, so he remains still and remembers green eyes.

 

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

 

The sight of a white truck bearing the Sioux Falls Sheriff’s Office insignia is the last thing Mary wants to see when they pull into Singer Salvage. The fact that she doesn’t see the Impala out front makes things even worse. Ringo whines from his spot in the back, echoing her feelings.

“Balls,” Bobby mutters.

“You got the law to deal with now too?” Rufus asks as he puts the car in park. “When exactly did your family personally piss off God?”

“Shut up,” Mary and Bobby tell him at once as they climb out of the car. To Mary’s slight relief it’s Jody Mills who exits the truck to greet them. However, she looks like she’s had about as bad a few days as Mary. Her skin is ashen and her eyes are red-rimmed.

“Hey, Mary, Bobby,” Jody nods with a distinct sniffle before her eyes narrow when Rufus emerges from the car as well. “And…”

“Luther Vandross,” Rufus says and Mary can’t stop herself from rolling her eyes. Jody doesn’t comment though.

“Is there a problem, Deputy?” Bobby asks.

“Oh, uh, no actually, I just-” Jody swallows and shakes her head, as if she’s holding back more tears. “I wanted to talk to Mary, but if y’all are busy…”

“It’s fine,” Mary says automatically even though pretty much everything is the opposite of fine. “Let me make you some tea, okay? Bobby why don’t you show Ru-Luther that project of yours in the basement.”

“Oh, your shriveled husk of a heart is gonna grow three sizes when you see this,” Bobby tells Rufus as they all go inside and leave the women to talk.

Ringo nudges against Jody’s shins for attention as Mary starts a kettle just in time to realize how inappropriate tea is for June. Offering a deputy beer in the middle of the day would probably be worse. Jody doesn’t say anything for a while, just pets Ringo until Mary takes a seat beside her and touches her hand.

“Look, I know we aren’t the best of friends, but I didn’t really know anyone else who could…get this,” Jody blurts out.

“I don’t–”

“But I remembered about your husband. And your dad,” Jody goes on and with a sinking feeling Mary starts to understand.

“Did something happen to Sean?”

“Not Sean,” Jody whispers and Mary has to close her eyes on her own tears.

“Owen.” When Mary looks again, Jody is nodding, tears finally falling.

“It’s cancer. Uh, leukemia,” Jody stammers. “There’s treatment but, they…they aren’t optimistic.”

“Oh, Jody, I am so sorry,” Mary whispers, pulling the other woman into a hug. The pot starts to boil as Jody heaves a sob into Mary’s shoulder.

“How did you do it?” Jody asks thickly, pulling back. “How did you keep living after losing someone like that?”

“I don’t know,” Mary answers, completely honest even though it’s not much of a help. “I guess I found something to hold on to. For me it was keeping my boys safe. But even that wasn’t…” Mary stops as she thinks of Sam and how the thought of losing him right now is a physical thing, eating at her heart. She thinks of Jo and the anguish in Ellen’s face when her little girl disappeared in front of her. She remembers how it's all her fault and has to fight not to fall apart. “When they’re little, you think: if you hold them tight enough, love them hard enough, nothing will hurt them. If you just never stop looking away and keep loving them, you can protect them forever.” Mary’s vision blurs and she tastes the tears that have strayed down her cheek. The words ‘but you can’t protect them’ remain unspoken. They don’t need to be.

They sit in silence for a while, letting the tears ebb and dry as Mary squeezes Jody’s hand. After a while the kettle’s whistling breaks them out of the trance of grief and Mary moves. Maybe that’s what she should tell Jody.

“You just keep moving,” Mary murmurs. “Keep going, keep fighting until it doesn’t hurt as much and things start to make sense again.” Jody wipes her cheeks and nods. “Shit. I don’t think we actually have tea bags.”

Jody gives a weak laugh, bending over to pet Ringo again. “Nah, I’m good. Got a lot of doctors to talk to and a job to get back to.”

“I’m around if you need to talk,” Mary says, because it’s the right thing to say, even if it’s not strictly true.

“Thanks, Mary,” Jody says with a weary smile. “I’ll say some prayers for you and your boys too.”

“We certainly need them,” Mary murmurs, pulling Jody in for another hug just as Ringo perks up and the sound of a familiar engine approaches.

Jody heads out the front and Mary listens to her exchange a few pleasantries with Dean as they pass. For some reason just the sound of one of her children’s voices almost pushes her back to tears, mostly of relief this time. Dean made it back to her. Dean’s alive and breathing and she can’t forget that.

“Hey, Mom – whoa,” Dean huffs as Mary pulls him into a crushing hug the second he steps in the door, while Ringo yips and jumps and sniffs at Dean’s knees. “Hey. I missed you too,” Dean says, hugging her back almost as fiercely. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get home.”

Mary pulls back, pushing new tears from her cheeks and regaining her composure. “Okay, young man, you are going to tell me everything you haven’t been telling me. From the start, right now.” Dean’s immediate look of panic is enough for Mary to know that this is a story she is not going to like at all. “First: where’s your new friend?”

“Well, uh, he’s…You know, I’d actually love it if he was here right now,” Dean says, awkwardly glancing around the kitchen. “I mean, I get that he needed time after…stuff. But I really, _really_ could use his support. Right _now_ ,” Dean adds, looking at the ceiling.

“Dean, what are you doing? Do you have a concussion?”

“No, I’m fine really, I’m just…” Dean shrugs away from Mary and strides into the living room, still casting about like he’s looking for someone and muttering. Mary makes out “get your ass down here, you son of a bitch,” before she loses patience.

“Dean!” 

“I’m praying, okay?” 

“Pray – what are you talking about?”

“The gig Ash sent me on in Illinois, it was…” Dean takes a deep breath and Mary braces herself. “There was a guy that said he was talking to angels.”

Mary stares at her son for a long moment. She can’t figure out if she wants to laugh, seriously check for a concussion, or give him one. Dean’s face is expectant and worried, as if he knows how insane that sounds. “This is all about your angel…thing?”

“Mom, it was _legit_. I got there and the guy, he was - he’d been talking to…” Ringo gives a yelp and streaks under the couch as something in Dean’s face changes – wider eyes and slack, half smiling mouth. “Cas.”

“ _Cas_?” Mary repeats in pure horror. “Your _imaginary friend_?” She bats at him so that he’ll look at her.

“Mom, he’s not –”

“Dean Winchester, I swear if you spent three days chasing after–”

“Mom!” Dean grabs Mary’s shoulders and bodily turns her around. “He’s not imaginary.”

There is a dark-haired, rumpled man with extraordinary blue eyes standing in the kitchen, staring past Mary at Dean. She reaches for her weapon out of pure instinct in the second it takes for the stranger to make eye contact.

“Who the hell are you?” Mary shouts as Dean grabs at her gun hand. “Dean what the–”

“Mom, calm down!”

Mary loses focus for an instant and the man disappears from her sight only to reappear _behind_ them in the living room with the very distinct sound of _flapping._ Mary gives a yelp of shock as Dean wrests the gun away from her and unloads it in a single fluid motion before tossing it to the couch. “Great timing, Cas,” Dean grumbles to the stranger.

“This is…” Mary stammers, her heart racing. “ _Cas_? No. Cas _isn’t real_ , Dean, you dreamed him up!" She gawks at the man Dean is very much holding her back from. He’s handsome, but there certainly is something unearthly about him that is setting off every instinct she has. But he can’t be an angel. “Angels aren’t real!”

“I didn’t make him up, Mom,” Dean says, his voice softer as he looks at the guy with unmistakable affection. “And I – we – can explain, if you just calm down a bit.”

“What’s the commotion up here – who the hell is this?” Bobby demands as he bounds up from the basement, Rufus at his heels.

“According to my temporarily insane son: his childhood guardian angel,” Mary snaps and _Cas_ gives her a perturbed look.

“Excuse me?” Bobby asks. “Dean, what in the hell?”

“Did everyone get on the good drugs while we were downstairs?” Rufus inquires, sizing up both Cas and Dean. “Cause, boy, you certainly don’t look like…”

Cas heaves an annoyed sigh and glances at Dean before the room shudders with the sound of thunder and actual, honest to goodness, lightning flashes out of nowhere. Every human in the room gasps as the shadows of immense _wings_ flicker against the wall behind Cas, who suddenly seems to loom, larger than life and terrifying, before them. The miniature storm calms as quickly as it started and Mary feels the sudden urge to fall on her knees in fear or awe. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do when you meet an angel? Even if they’re wearing your son’s old Duran Duran tee?

“My name is Castiel, and I am, as Dean was _trying_ to explain, an angel of the Lord.” His voice sounds like carved granite feels, and his expression is deadly serious until he glances at Dean. “Mostly,” he adds, shifting uneasily and shrinking a bit under Dean’s slack-jawed stare.

“Ho. Lee. Shit,” Rufus breathes. Bobby just stares, his face mirroring the disbelief and confusion Mary feels. Dean, obviously more used to the fact that _an angel_ is standing in front of them, shakes himself out of his stupor and looks around at the amazed faces in the room.

“Told ya,” he smirks, and Castiel shoots him an annoyed glare then pushes past him towards Mary. She braces for – who knows what? Smiting? A blessing? Castiel simply holds out his hand.

“It’s an honor to formally meet you, Mary Winchester,” Castiel says.

Mary tentatively take his hand and shakes it. “F-formally?” The angel’s hand is incredibly cold, but his grip is firm and his inhumanely blue eyes are sincere. And Ringo isn’t trying to murder him, which Mary also takes as a good sign.

“I have been in your presence many times, but very rarely on the same plane.”

“He hung around a lot when I was a kid,” Dean translates. “Like I told you.”

“You…” Mary doesn’t even know what to start asking.

Castiel offers a hand to Bobby, who stares at it for a second. “Dean speaks very highly of you, Bobby Singer,” he says as Bobby shakes his hand, the gesture limp and automatic. “And Rufus Turner.” Castiel turns and repeating the formality with Rufus.

“Castiel, you said?” Rufus asks, his face melting from terror to suspicion. “As in, the angel of Thursday?”

“That is one of my designations, yes. Though I was created before humans developed names for different days.”

“Huh,” Rufus clucks. “Not that yous little light show wasn’t impressive, but I’d still like to see you take some silver and holy water.”

“Oh come on,” Dean gorans. “He’s safe, you can trust me.”

“I ain’t seen your sweet ass for nine years, kid,” Rufus shoots back. “And no hunters have seen an angel in…ever. So pardon me if I’m dubious.”

Dean scowls but Castiel gives an understanding nod. Mary doesn’t know what she’s expecting when Rufus pulls a silver blade from who knows where in his coat and slices it across Castiel’s offered palm, then douses it with holy water from the flask Bobby hands over. There’s no reaction and Mary swears the angel looks either bored or smug afterward, she can’t quite tell.

“Are we done with the interrogation?” Dean mutters, grabbing Castiel’s hand back from Rufus and pulling him to the kitchen, Mary assumes, to wash the wound. Watching her son haul a warrior of God into their kitchen like an errant child is something she never thought she’d see. At least not this week. “Can’t you just heal this…What the hell happened to your knuckles, man?” Dean demands as he pulls out a dishtowel and wraps it around Castiel’s hand.

“An experiment,” Castiel mutters. “And I should conserve my grace for more important things.”

“Your what?” Mary asks, stepping after them. “And, since you ask, hell no, the interrogation isn’t over, for either of you. Now sit and start talking.” Dean opens his mouth to protest and Castiel looks surprised, but both take seats at the worn kitchen table and stare up at Mary. Apparently her mom voice still works.

“Grace is angel mojo,” Dean explains tiredly after a beat. “Cas is, um, sorta running low. He’s not on heaven’s VIP list right now.”

“How the hell did you end up with the Miller Lite of angels?” Bobby asks, his composure and gruffness returned.

“I don’t understand…” Castiel replies, squinting.

“So, the night Dad died, you ever wonder why I was awake?” Dean asks out of left field.

“I always just assumed you heard something,” Mary replies.

“What I heard was Cas. He woke me up. Angels aren’t supposed to intervene with humans, so he got exiled for it.” Dean sends the angel a quick look and Mary in turn sends her son an ‘I know you’re not telling me everything’ glare. “Okay, so maybe it was extra bad that he messed with Sam and I. Cause we have a destiny sort of thing going.”

“And you knew that?” Mary asks, turning her attention to the grim-faced angel.

“Not at the time. But after I was forced from Heaven, I didn’t have a vessel, so I looked for Dean and…he was the only one that I could talk to.”

“In his dreams? I remember Dean saying something about why you couldn’t…”

“Did you say vessel?” It’s Bobby who asks that and it makes both Dean and Castiel look uneasy.

“A few very special people can contain angels, so they can walk the earth,” Castiel answers as if by rote. “We must have consent to enter them though.”

“Always a good rule,” Rufus mutters.

“So whose body is this?” Mary asks suspiciously, studying the stubbled and now very guilty looking face looking up at her.

“His name was Jimmy Novak, he was the guy in Illinois that Ash sent me to check on,” Dean answers in Cas’s stead.

“Was?” Rufus echoes ominously.

“Found him right when some demons did,” Dean replies, looking at Castiel in a way that Mary can only classify as protective and sympathetic. “I tried to stop them, nearly got my ass kicked, and Cas saved me. Jimmy let Cas hop in before he, uh, moved on.”

“Heavenly body snatching. Well, that’s a new flavor of weird,” Bobby grouses. Mary ignores him, finding herself catching Castiel’s attention and then just staring at his eyes. There’s something incredibly familiar about them, about the way he holds himself and…

“Oh my god, that day at the beach,” Mary breathes. “When Dean…That was you.”

“Yeah. I let Cas in and saved he me then too,” Dean interjects but Mary doesn’t look away from the angel.

“And you saved me in the woods, from the wendigo,” Mary continues. “Dean said he told you to watch over me…” Castiel nods and then the final piece falls into place for Mary and her jaw drops. “The last night in Santa Cruz. The demon. That’s how the kids survived…”

“I was too late to save your father,” Castiel says softly, though his voice is still a rough rumble that Mary can practically feel under her skin. “I’m sorry.”

“Mom,” Dean murmurs, reaching out to grab her hand. “I’ve already chewed Cas out on that one, okay. Did it then and told him I didn’t want anything to do with him. That’s why he was talking to Jimmy, cause I kicked him out of our lives. Like an idiot.”

Mary shakes her head and looks around for something, _anything_ , normal or grounding to focus on. Of course Ringo chooses that moment to cautiously emerge from his place under the couch. He trots right past Mary and sniffs at Castiel’s shins.

“You had other protection,” Castiel mutters, looking curiously at the dog and holding out his injured hand to be sniffed.

“Oh yeah, by the way, we’re like super warded from…everything,” Dean says, trying to sound casual. “Some other angel wrote shit on our bones, like, a long time ago and Cas has no clue who - _what the hell_?!”

Mary knows what Dean is reacting to because she’s watching it too. Ringo is licking Castiel’s wounds and as he does the cuts heal and the blood fades away.

“I believe it was the same angel that empowered this…creature to protect you,” Castiel remarks, drawing his fully healed hand back from the very proud looking corgi. “Thank you,” he tells the dog who gives a bark in reply, and Mary must finally be hitting the nervous breakdown because the bark sounded sarcastic.

“Told you that mutt was weird,” Rufus says.

“Jesus Fucking Christ,” Bobby says by way of agreement then gives Cas a look. “Pardon. Do I even dare ask what all this mess has to do with Sam? You know, the _actual problem_.”

“I’m guessing it has something to do with that destiny you tried not to mention,” Mary shoots and Dean shrinks closer to his angel, sending him a worried look. “Dean. Spill.”

“Fine. The demon – his name’s Azazel, by the way – did something to Sam, and a bunch of other kids, but it was about finding Sam. They want, or need, Sam for something really bad,” Dean hedges.

“How bad, exactly?” Rufus asks, standing up straighter, and edging away from Ringo.

“Apocalyptically bad,” Dean answers with a grimace. “And that I mean that literally.”

“As in your kind of apocalyptic.” Bobby directs the question at Cas, as if this isn’t even a shock, and frankly at this point, it really isn’t. “Book of Revelation, fire and brimstone, end of the world?”

Castiel nods solemnly. “I don’t know the particulars of their plan, but…”

“Please tell me God sent you to stop it,” Mary asks. Castiel and Dean are both ominously quiet. “There is a God, right? I mean, if you’re here.”

“Mom, let’s not do this right now,” Dean protests but Castiel’s continued silence and avoidance of her eyes has her anger rising.

“No, I want know what God has to say about the end of the world, Dean,” she counters. “Since apparently you didn’t bother asking. I’d actually love to know his opinion on anything.” The angel bristles but finally looks up at Mary.

“I…haven’t spoken to him,” he replies, almost embarrassed. But that can’t be.

“About the apocalypse?” Mary pushes.

“About anything,” Castiel confesses. “I haven’t met him. Very few angels have.”

“You haven’t –” Mary breaks off into a hollow laugh. Of course. _Of course._

“Though I believe he may–”

“Oh, you believe?” Mary scoffs.

“Mom, maybe take a breath,” Dean warns.

“No, I will not take a breath!” Mary snaps and Dean falls back in his chair. “You come in here telling me angels and God and Heaven are real, and that there’s a fucking _apocalypse_ on the horizon and God doesn’t even care? Holy shit what _use_ are you? Or God for that matter?” Castiel’s face is stricken and he doesn’t argue, which just makes Mary even angrier.

“Mary, darlin’…” Bobby murmurs, trying to approach.

“Bobby Singer if you so much as touch me right now I will find that ring you keep hidden in the sock drawer and shove it up your ass.”

Rufus and Ringo make very similar terrified noises as Bobby backs away.

Mary is hshaking with fury as she keeps her eyes on Castiel. “My son is out there at the mercy of demons. Jo is possessed, for fuck’s sake and you haven’t been sent here to help, you just hung around cause you messed up and you’re lonely?” she demands. “Do angels even _do_ anything? Can you? Other than light shows and parlor tricks? Do you know how many people out there need you? For fuck’s sake, I just sent a friend home to her dying kid and she said she’d pray for me. Pray! Should I just call Jody up and tell her to stop cause it’s useless? What is the goddamn point?!”

Castiel looks down, face pale and ashamed as Mary pants in the silence.

“Owen’s sick?” Dean asks tentatively and the freshness of that grief is enough to snap Mary out of her rage.

“Yeah,” Mary mutters, falling into a chair and cradling her head. “It’s not good.”

“Your friend is praying right now,” Castiel says quietly and Mary looks up at him. She might feel bad for putting such a look of torment on an angel’s face, but she’s just too tired. “And you’re right. Heaven may not want to stop this." Castiel swallows and looks plaintively at Dean. "But _I_ do.”

Mary blinks at the sound of wings and the fact that Castiel has vanished.

“Great, Mom, you scared away the angel,” Dean gripes. “Which makes two of us today.”

“It’s been a long…week,” Mary mutters. “I’m sorry. I just…”

“No. I get it,” Dean says, picking at a hole in his jeans. “I didn’t ask about the whole God thing ’cause I didn’t want to know, I guess.”

“Let me guess, you were just happy to have your best friend back?”

Dean gives a weak smile and nods. “Something like that.”

“Dean, are you sure-”

“We can trust him, Mom,” Dean says, as earnest as she’s ever seen him. “He’s weird and dorky but his heart is in the right place, believe me.”

“Angels have hearts?” Rufus asks and for some reason it makes Dean blush.

Mary heaves a sigh. “Fine, I’ll…give him a chance. How do I – crap!” Mary jumps as Castiel reappears behind Dean, who also startles out of his chair.

“Cas! How many times-”

“Owen Mills will be fine,” the angel states and Mary’s jaw drops. “Now, we need to find Sam. He’s warded but perhaps with the right spell or the right vicinity I could track his companion, or more possibly Jo Harvelle.”

“Wait, wait,” Dean says, grabbing Castiel before he can turn away. “Go back to the part about the kid.”

Castiel gives Mary a humble looks and licks his lips before his focus returns to Dean. “I did as was suggested. I helped.”

“You don’t have the juice to heal yourself, but you…” Dean’s words fade as he stares at the angel. A moment passes between the two of them that Mary is certain she’ll be wondering about for a while. Mary herself can’t find any words. For all she knows Castiel could be lying, all of this could be a trap or a trick…but that’s not what her gut tells her. Instead she thinks she might owe the guy an apology.

Instead of talking she heads to the cabinet and pulls the good whiskey out from where Bobby likes to think it’s hidden. No one moves until each of them have glasses – or a South Dakota School of Mines Hard Rocker’s mug in Dean’s case – containing generous pours. Mary takes a swig and lets the burn steady her frayed nerves as she retakes a seat by Dean. Castiel takes a tentative sip of the whiskey and then frowns in distaste.

“Well, this has been an informative little meeting,” Rufus finally interjects. “Let’s see. We’ve learned angels are real, but God isn’t around, Bobby’s got a ring somewhere, the dog’s magic and, oh yeah, the apocalypse is coming. If we’re putting it all on the table, I myself am down three toes since ’95. Any one need to come out of the closet while we’re sharing?” Dean starts violently choking on his whiskey, turning an extremely pointed shade of pink. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“Dean, are you alright?” Castiel asks obliviously.

“I like chicks too, okay!” Dean protests, as he tries to catch his breath then sends Mary a worried look.

She gives him a shrug, and watches Bobby do the same.

“Fine then, now that that’s out of the way, can we get back to saving our collective asses, please?” Rufus says as Dean sits there in shock.

“Seconded,” Bobby grumbles and fixes Cas with a look. “You said something about getting the right spell to find Jo or this Ava girl?”

“Possibly,” Cas answers. “With the right tools. But we’d need to narrow down the location.”

“Well, Ash said something was happening in Wyoming,” Mary offers.

“Wyoming? Why would demons be in Wyoming?” Dean asks.

Cas gives a small, thoughtful shrug. “It could be related to the hellgate there.”

“The _what_?” Dean demands and Cas seems genuinely confused by Dean’s tone.

“A portal into Hell, a large one actually, but a hunter sealed it over a century ago,” Castiel explains flatly.

“Do you know which hunter?” Mary asks and Cas shakes his head.

“You thinking the same thing as me?” Bobby asks and Mary nods.

“Bobby, Rufus, you two hit the books, see if it was Colt,” Mary orders. “I’ll call the Roadhouse and Jody, and you two…work on that spell.” Mary worries that giving an order to an angel is maybe some kind of faux pas but Cas nods obediently.

“Come on, Cas,” Dean mutters, “The good stuff is in the basement.”

Mary waits for the two of them to trudge out of the kitchen before she pounds back the last of the whiskey and shakes off her exhaustion.

“You okay?” Bobby asks.

“We’ve got work to do,” Mary replies and grabs a phone.

 

**Rock Springs, Wyoming**

 

“I got dinner and booze,” Ava calls as she pushes into the motel room she’s been sharing with Sam for the last few days. “The best McDonald’s the ass-end of Wyoming has to…Oh.” Ava frowns at the petite blonde sitting cross-legged on the hideous comforter.

“You can drop the America’s sweetheart act, Gumby’s at the library,” Meg tells her, eyes flashing black.

Ava’s scowl deepens. “You let him wander off _alone_?” she snaps, tossing the bag of food to the table and stalking towards the demon. “I’ve been stuck with that sanctimonious moron for days and you can’t babysit him for an hour?!”

“He went to confirm the Colt railroad thing.” Meg flicks her hand at the television to change the channel. “It’s not like he has a phone.”

Ava thrusts her hand into the air before her and sends Meg hurtling across the room into the tacky painting on the wall. “And it’s not like he can’t find a landline, you stupid bitch!” Ava yells, muscles tensing as she strains to keep the powerful demon pinned.

“He’s not going to blow things,” Meg hisses back, eye flashing onyx again and finally breaking free with a force that leaves Ava panting. “And I think the stupid bitch here is the one wasting her juice on friendlies.” With that Meg lifts Ava from the ground without blinking and sends her careening onto the bed in a heap.

“This is too important to Father to fuck up.” Ava struggles to right herself as Meg sashays slowly towards her.

“Your devotion is admirable, really, but trust me, we’re _fine_ ,” Meg purrs, jumping on to the bed and straddling Ava. “You told me Sam's dead set on ditching the fam and lil Jojo in here says the same thing. He’s not gonna call them.”

“We’re down a man already because you underestimated shit,” Ava shoots back and gets a slap for the insolence.

“It wasn’t my fault Ken doll and the wing patrol showed up,” Meg growls, pinning Ava’s wrists above her head as she makes a token struggle to free herself. “And Tom was always an idiot,” she adds, bending low so that Ava can see her reflection in the black eyes. Meg knows how Ava’s always liked the inhuman look of them.

“And you’re not?” Ava mutters, breath coming quick now in response to the sting on her cheek and the pressure from above her.

“That’s right,” Meg whispers against Ava’s ear. “It’s all under control. We’re gonna set things in motion soon, baby,” Meg goes on, licking the shell of Ava’s ear and rolling her hips. “It’s gonna be glorious.”

Ava gives a moan as Meg sucks her earlobe into her mouth then bites. She can smell the sulfur this close and it makes her shudder. No matter what body Meg’s in, that smell is always the same, ever since she, Tom and Father found Ava and brought her home. Meg’s hand slides down Ava’s arm and over her breast with a rough squeeze before she kisses her and Ava moans into it.

“That’s a good girl,” Meg mutters against Ava’s jaw. “You like my new meat suit? Wanna see what she can do?”

“We don’t have time,” Ava protests as Meg’s hand goes for the zipper of her jeans. “And yeah, this body’s cute but she’s like fiften. Gross.”

“She’s seventeen, and that’s a lot older than you were when we first started playing,” Meg argues, the black blinking from her eyes as they narrow.

“Which is why I like it when you’re older than me,” Ava snipes back and Meg rolls her eyes as she gets off. “But maybe later we’ll see if sweet little Sam is up for some fun.”

“Hmmmm, celebratory threesome after the big show?” Meg coos, licking her lips. “I like the way you think. You’ll make Daddy so proud.”

“Father will be there?”

Meg looks over her shoulder and gives a vicious smile. “He wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> -Some sensuality involving an underaged possessed person (Jo). This is contained in the final section if you want to skip.


	14. The Long and Winding Road

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

 

Cas is absorbed in the shelves of spell ingredients, carefully turning the tins that Dean had meticulously labeled and alphabetized during a slow month a few summers ago. He and Bobby had built the shelf too, cause Bobby had been pissed that Sioux Falls High didn’t offer shop class and Dean just liked building shit. Watching Cas touch the things Dean made, that he put so much youthful care into, makes Dean nervous. But then again just being within five feet of Cas makes him nervous right now.

“We may need a second anti-sulfuric element to cancel out the demonic. Do you have basil?” Cas asks.

Dean shakes himself out of his stupor. “Uh. In the kitchen. Mom gets pissed when the cooking herbs get mixed in with the spell stuff.”

“Hm,” is all Cas says before finally looking up at Dean – who didn’t know what he was doing or looking for _before_ those stupid blue eyes fixed on him and now promptly forgets his own name. “Do you have anything Jo touched that we might use to strengthen it?”

“Strengthen what?” Dean asks, blinking then realizing that he is, in fact, a moron. “Oh, the spell. Uh, yeah, I’ve got a switchblade of hers I borrowed upstairs somewhere.” His mouth is dry and his voice comes out hoarse. Hopefully Cas will be in touch with his ‘oblivious to human discomfort side’ today.

“Dean, are you alright?”

Or not.

“I’m, uh, fine,” Dean lies, feeling his skin get warm as Cas stares at him and his eye flick to Dean’s lips. _Shit._ “Am I going to Hell?”

“What?” Cas asks, clearly affronted, which is a bit of a relief.

“For the…what I did, back that gas station?” Dean mutters, scratching the back of his neck and wishing he could break eye contact with the angel, but that’s just not happening. “Is corrupting an angel like a go straight to Hell sin or something? Especially cause I’m a…”

“Dean, no.” Cas steps far too close to Dean. “I can’t think of anyone I would judge less deserving of Hell than you,” he says softly. “My reaction earlier today was…unhelpful.”

“No, I get it,” Dean says, trying to stop looking at Cas’s mouth and failing, then blushing more because of it. “I overstepped. It wasn’t cool of me. I’m –”

“You were right. I do…feel things. And that makes me feel…afraid.” Cas gives a wry smile at the irony of it.

“Oh,” Dean says because he remains an idiot incapable of intelligent language and Cas is so close he can smell him and that’s not what he should be thinking about right now. “That’s, uh, normal,” Dean tries again and Cas cocks his head. “You know, being scared of new things. But that doesn’t mean they’re bad.” Cas licks his lips again and Dean’s heart starts beating harder. Crap, can Cas hear that? Can he read thoughts? He’s looking at Dean like he knows what Dean is thinking. Well, then maybe it’s okay to put it all on the table. “Some feelings are good, right?”

“I don’t want them, Dean,” Cas whispers and Dean’s stomach drops. “I can’t want them if I ever want to go home, or be what I was.”

“Then don’t,” Dean breathes. “Be who you are now. I like that guy.” That earns a sad smile from the angel that’s worth everything to Dean and has him leaning closer. He might be losing his mind but it looks like Cas is leaning closer too. “I sort of like him a lot. And you don’t need to go back, you can…”

“You boys finding everything okay?”

Dean stumbles backwards and away from Cas, crashing into a table full of scrap metal. His mother is standing at the foot of the stairs, sipping an enormous cup of coffee with a smug look on her face.

“We need a few things from upstairs,” Cas answers, of course choosing _now_ to be insensible to Dean’s seething embarrassment.

“Oh, really,” Mom remarks, taking another satisfied sip of coffee. “I wouldn’t have guessed that was where you were heading.”

“Mom…” Dean warns and she drums her fingers happily on her mug.

“Well, don’t let me get in the way of you two _going upstairs_ ,” she says, stepping aside on the stairs and Dean assumes she’s only able to keep a straight face from decades of practice.

“Thank you,” Cas says with a polite nod, though he gives Dean one more searching look before heading up the stairs. Mom smiles as she watches Cas ascend the stairs.

“Hmm, nice.”

“ _Mom_ ,” Dean growls, his face heating for an entirely different reason now.

“What, I can look,” she shrugs and Dean considers how bad it would be to lock himself in the nearly finished panic room they’ve been working on. No, just bursting into flames and sinking into the earth would be more efficient. Instead, Dean stalks past Mom to follow Cas upstairs and yeah, if he does take a look at the view on the stairs above him, sue him, his fucking mother did it first. God bless tight jeans.

“Will you show Cas where to find the basil and a map?” Dean asks his mother as they come into the kitchen. “I gotta go grab a thing.”

“I’ll also help him get the pile of supplies you two left down in the basement,” Mom calls after him.

“Yeah, thanks!” he yells before sprinting to the room he shares with Sam. Nothing has changed since he left it on Saturday but it feels like it’s a different world. Sam’s books are still in a messy stack by his headboard. One sneaker peaks out from under the bed. Dean knows that if he checks the drawers and closet nothing noticeable will be gone, because Sam didn’t take a bag to Ava’s. That means he had stuff stashed there already. Because he was planning this for a while.

Dean doesn’t want to think about the fights that are going to ensue when they get Sam back. (Not if, damnit, _when._ ) There’s going to be a lot of I told you sos on both sides, just to add to the guilt and anger over everything they’re already feeling. He wonders if Mom blames herself for this mess as much as he does, if Sam will feel the same way. He knows Cas does and it’s strange, but that makes Dean smile because it means Cas has a conscience and also something in common with the Winchesters.

He grabs Jo’s knife from the shelf it’s been sitting on for months, and heads back down into the fray. Of course Mom and Cas are chatting in the kitchen when he gets there, Bobby ad Rufus watching. Dean has no idea what to say to any of them right now so he pulls out a pad of paper and the Lesser Key of Solomon, as recommended by Cas, and starts working on the spell at Bobby’s desk.

For a blessed twenty minutes or so he doesn’t think about family that’s in peril or the angel he’s got a thing for or their fucking _magic dog_ and he just works. It’s nice. It takes him three drafts and he’s gonna need Cas to look at the Enochian, but he feels good. Mostly. Until he looks up and Cas is three inches behind him and reading over his shoulder.

“Jesus!” Dean huffs, startled and of course Cas doesn’t bat an eyelash. “I’m getting you a bell.”

“Why did you change the second invocation?” Cas asks, still squinting down at the page.

“Cause I thought I didn’t need a fire element…wait, how did you know I changed it?”

“I read the impressions that your previous draft left on the page,” Cas tells him nonchalantly, but then cocks his head curiously.

“You see something else interesting?” Dean asks. Cas doesn’t seem to be looking at the spell anymore, just contemplating something. “Cas, you having one of those déjà vu moments?”

“Not exactly.” Cas shakes his head. “It’s not of import. Let’s proceed.”

“Ash says the omen are concentrated around this part of Southern Wyoming,” Mary tells them, pointing at the map as she spreads out.

“That’s the same area where Colt was active, according to what we could find,” Bobby says. “And he was very active.”

“Killing demons?” Dean asks.

“Building rail lines,” Bobby replies.

“Not just rail lines,” Rufus adds and drags a marker across the map five times. “Intersecting rail lines.”

Dean glances at his mother, who looks about as impressed as he is with what appears to be… “A hundred square mile devil’s trap?”

“The hellgate is there, right in the center,” Cas tells them, taping the map.

Dean peeks under Cas’s finger. “A cemetery? Holy ground, makes sense. So all these demons are gathering around to try to get in?” Dean hopes he’s not the only one confused.

“I think they’re waiting for someone to let something big out,” Bobby ventures. Mom and Rufus nod as Dean sends a worried look to Cas. The angel gives a minute shake of his head. Good, at least _the devil_ isn’t on the To Worry About list at this very moment.

“So, let’s see if Jo is around there,” Mary says.

They stand back and watch as Cas assembles the spell ingredients in a silver bowl with stiff efficiency. Dean holds his breath as Cas extends a hand over the bowl and his palm begins to glow. The Enochian words sound much better in Cas’s rough voice than they ever have in Dean’s mouth. Dean entertains a few very wrong-for-the-moment thoughts about the sexiness of it before he catches his mother giving him a familiar ‘I’m reading your mind and I am not impressed’ look. The map bursting into flames is a nice distraction from it all, really.

“Glad I have spares,” Bobby mutters.

“She’s there. Rock Springs,” Cas says, pinning the remaining scrap of map with his finger.  

“We sure that means Sam is there too?” Bobby asks.

“It’s the best lead we have,” Mary replies, shaking her head. “But it’s a day’s drive away.”

“We don’t know that they’re planning on hitting it right now,” Bobby offers, though he doesn’t sound too convinced. “If we start driving now maybe we can…”

“The only thing these asshats are gonna wait for is nightfall,” Dean says. “Fucking cliché dicks.”

“Night does offer more cover and would be strategically advantageous,” Cas comments without a single hint of irony.

“Fuck,” Mary mutters. “I’ll call Ellen, maybe she can haul ass to get there…How long we got until sunset?”

“Four, five hours?” Bobby answers, looking hopelessly at his watch.

“Crap…” Mom mutters as she heads over to the phone.

Dean’s stomach churns in anxiety as he thinks of the distance between them and Sam and what the demons are planning. Nothing involving an _actual gate to hell_ is gonna be good.

“Ellen, it’s Mary again.” It’s good to hear a bit of hope in his Mom’s voice though. “We think we found her, but you’re gonna need to drive fast.”

“Dean,” Cas says quietly.

Dean knows what the angel’s thinking the moment he meets his eyes. “Cas, no.”

“I can get us there, Dean,” Cas argues, standing up and of course saying it loud enough for the whole room to hear. Bobby and Rufus turn in interest and Mary holds the phone to her shoulder.

“Won’t that drain your batteries?” Bobby asks for all of them.

“I’ll be fine,” Cas replies, not very convincingly, eyes still on Dean. “This is your family. It’s important.”

Dean can’t argue with that. He just hopes that the extent of the gratitude and worry and…other stuff he’s feeling doesn’t show too much on his face cause Mom is watching and she already has enough ammo, thank you very much.

“We’ll meet you in Rock Springs, go together from there,” he hears his mom tell Ellen as he watches Cas breathe. Which isn’t creepy at all but he should probably stop. “We…got a ride. I’ll explain when we meet you. Bye, Ellen.”

“It’s better if we go now,” Cas says. “If the journey is taxing for me it will give me time to recover and we may be able to find Sam before things get out of hand.”

“Sounds good to me, let’s arm up,” Rufus says.

The next few minutes are spent grabbing every weapon they can carry discreetly without getting arrested. Dean is both shocked and not surprised at all to come back in from looting the trunk of the Impala to see his mother handing Cas a worn canvas jacket.

“…the temperature won’t affect me,” Cas is protesting. Dean finds himself grinning.

“I’m a mom, I can’t let you leave the house without a coat.”

“Just take the coat, Cas,” Dean orders. “You’re not gonna win this one.”

“Whatever happened to the trench coat?” Mary asks, surprising Dean by even remembering.

“I’m not sure why I appeared in that…outfit,” Cas confesses, carefully pulling on the jacket.

“Well, you look good in this one,” Dean says before he can stop himself and his Mom shoots him a smug smile that makes Dean want to sink into the floor. “I mean…you look more like a hunter.”

“Uh huh,” Mom says.

“We ready?” Bobby asks, tucking a knife into his vest. “And is anyone gonna tell me how this is gonna work?”

“Everyone take hands,” Cas orders and Dean grabs the angel’s hand without thinking then blushes immediately as Mom purses her lips to keep from commenting. She politely takes Cas’s other hand as Bobby and Rufus grudgingly takes hands before Bobby grabs Mom.

“Okay, so do we think happy thoughts or –” Rufus’s words are cut off by the sound of wind and wings and in the blink of an eye they’re standing in an unfamiliar street with dusty hills in the distance. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

Dean readies a smartass remark but before he can speak Cas’s hand goes limp in his as the angel collapses to the pavement.

 

**~~The middle of fucking nowhere~~ , North Tipton Road, Wyoming**

 

“Do we need to go over this again for the rookie?” Jo asks from the passenger seat of the run-down truck. Sam doesn’t want to ask where the vehicle came from, he’s just glad they’re not walking.

“You mean the plan where you do nothing and we risk our lives?” Ava says from her cramped spot in the rear.

“ _I told you_ , someone has to do the spell and aim the demon your way,” Jo snipes.

Sam groans. “Can we not fight right now? I would rather worry about this demon than you two killing each other.”

“Fine,” Ava sighs. “We hike to the abandoned magic cemetery, you do your summoning spell thing, then we open up the demon trap, suck the thing in, and Sam kills it.”

“Are you sure about this spell, Jo? I mean, I’ve never heard of anything like it.” Sam’s had a feeling of unease and worry creeping under his skin for hours. There’s something about this that feels wrong in his blood.

“If it goes wrong I’ll be safe in a devil’s trap and you’ve got the Colt,” Jo reminds him, sounding annoyed. “Sam, we’ve got to do this.”

“It seems too easy though.” Sam stares out the window at the long shadows cast by scrub brush as the sun sinks lower.

“Man, I do _not_ want to know your definition of hard,” Ava mutters. “Come on, Sam. You got this.”

Sam gives a weak chuckle and a nod and finally climbs out of the pick-up. “Guess we better get walking then.”

“Watches synced?” Jo asks with a smile as she and Ava join him in the dusty heat.

“Yup. We’ll be ready,” Sam says, showing Jo his wrist. “Nine o’clock.”

“Don’t open that thing too early, okay? We’ll meet back here when that fucker is dead,” Jo tells him with a twinkle in her eye.

Sam pulls the petite girl into a hug and ignores Ava rolling her eyes. “I’ll get him for you, Jo.”

“I know, Sam, I believe in you,” Jo whispers against his chest before playfully pushing him away. “Now get going, you big softie.”

“Good luck, I guess,” Ava says and Jo gives her a scowl.

They don’t say anything more as the start walking, following an old dirt road that supposedly leads to Colt’s cemetery. It’s eerily quiet as they follow the meandering path, Sam checking the map and his compass periodically. The only landmark they have is an old railroad track that Ava takes a bit of interest in – at least to give it a curious kick – before moving on.

Sam checks his watch again. Still two hours before he opens Colt’s demon trap and ends all of this. It can’t happen soon enough.

 

**Somewhere Uncomfortable**

 

For the second time in less than twenty four hours Castiel has the very unpleasant experience of waking up disoriented. This occurrence is made all the more unpleasant by the fact that instead of finding himself in a warm bed next to Dean, he is propped up against a concrete wall. Dean is still there though, holding his arms and looking worried, which is some consolation.

“Cas!” Dean says, or possibly repeats, with concerning urgency. Perhaps a response is in order.

“Dean,” Castiel murmurs, because it’s as good a word as any. Actually a better word than most. That thought and the relief in Dean’s face makes him smile.

“What the hell, man?” Dean snaps, not letting go of Castiel’s arms. He can feel the heat of Dean’s hands through the rough fabric. It’s very nice. It feels like so long since he’s touched Dean or seen him and he looks so _young_.

“I don’t understand the question,” Castiel says because Dean looks like he wants him to answer. At least he’s not angry any more, though Castiel can’t quite remember what he did to deserve Dean’s wrath, but he knows it was something very bad.

“You said you’d be fine! And then you passed out in the street!”

The street? Castiel blinks, looking around to determine his bearings. Dean. And Bobby. No Sam though and…Mary? Mary Winchester is looking at him with worry. They’re in an alley somewhere.

“Where are we again?” Castiel asks, grasping for a memory that’s rapidly seeping away, like oil spreading over water leaving just a sheen of evidence it was there…

“Rock Springs, remember?”

Reality slams back into focus and Castiel blinks. “Yes, of course. Apologies. I apparently…underestimated the stress the journey might put on me.”

“Ya think?” Dean snaps, though the anger in his voice seems to stem more from concern that from genuine disappointment. “Come on, narcolepsy boy, get up.”

The world spins a bit as Dean hauls Castiel to his feet and Castiel finds himself hanging on to Dean, perhaps too tightly, but the solid feel of him under Castiel’s hands is grounding. He waits for Dean to tell him he’s too close. The few inches between them are not enough for normal human comfort, based on Castiel’s observations, but just like Dean’s touch, Castiel enjoys the living warmth that radiates from him and the smell of his skin and breath. It makes Castiel’s world reel in a completely different and much more pleasant way. Dean's eyes look nervous and curious and lovely so close…

“Are we done with the cuddling portion of our daring rescue?” Bobby asks impatiently and Dean jumps away. The coldness of separation at least serves to bring Castiel back into the moment.

“How long was I unconscious?” Castiel asks.

“Long enough for Bobby and Rufus to do a sweep, and Ash to hack into half the businesses in town,” Mary replies, and suddenly the worry on Dean’s face makes more sense. “About three hours.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says immediately.

“Stop apologizing,” Dean mutters and it actually eases Castiel’s guilt. Mary doesn’t look angry either, just anxious as footsteps approach.

“I found jack shit with a side of fuck all,” Rufus tells them as he joins them. “Oh good, sleeping beauty’s awake. That’s something. Any other luck?”  Bobby and Mary shake their heads. “I though not. I say we give it another hour then head towards that gate.”

“And what’s the plan after that?” Bobby asks back.

“Stop Sam from doing something stupid,” Dean answers.

Castiel doesn’t comment, instead his attention is drawn to the street beyond the alley. “We should go now,” he says, tensing and drawing closer to Dean.

“You don’t think we have time?” Mary asks.

Castiel’s gaze remains on the man wandering slowly down the sidewalk across the street. “I think this town is teeming with demons, and they are going to try and stop us from getting to Sam,” Castiel tells them.

Dean’s eye go wide.  “Have they seen us?” he asks as his hands stray to his weapon.

“Not yet, but we need to move quickly.”

“Who is it?” Dean demands.

“That man in blue across the street,” Castiel replies. “And I can sense others.”

“Can they sense you?” Mary asks, alarmed.

Castiel shakes his head. “Not with my grace so depleted. Wait for him to move and then we’ll need a vehicle.”

“I’m on it,” Dean offers. Castiel grabs him before he can move. “There a problem Cas?”

“They know you, they might-”

“They know all of us,” Dean argues. “And didn’t Meg say they weren’t supposed to kill me? I’m the best bet to get us wheels. I’ll be fine.”

Castiel purses his lips and lets go. He virulently dislikes letting Dean out of his sight and scowls when Dean exits the alley with a nod and a confident smile. The wait is tense and as the minutes stretch out Castiel listens intently for any prayer or glimmer of need from his charge.

 “You really do care, don’t you?” Mary asks as she come to stand beside Castiel. “About my son.”

“I would have thought that was obvious,” Castiel mutters.

Mary gives a small laugh. “Oh, it’s obvious alright.” Castiel is rather confused to see Mary smiling and shaking her head. “I’m sorry I was tough on you earlier.”

“It was warranted.”

“I didn’t actually expect you to…” Mary bites her lip and shakes her head again, the same way Dean does when he can’t find the right way to express his thoughts. “What I’m trying to say is…thank you. For protecting Dean.”

“It’s the most important thing I’ve ever done or will ever do,” Castiel says before he can even consider the thought or the inescapable truth of it.

“Yeah, I’m starting to get that,” Mary murmurs back as Castiel considers his own words. The inky black chaos of his own unconsciousness weighs on the edge of his thoughts, makes him shudder with something unremembered and dark. Thankfully the sound of an engine cuts off the reverie.

“You morons need a ride?” Dean asks with a grin as he leans out the window of the van. The whole group sighs in various tones of relief and annoyance. “Cas, take shotgun and help me steer clear of the lil’ smokies, okay?”

“He means the demons,” Mary explains, much to Castiel’s relief, as Dean rolls his eyes.

The drive is slow, and they have to turn around several times to find a route out of town that demons aren’t watching. By the time they make it on to the rough freeway going east, the sun is already staining the sky red behind them.

“We in the clear?” Bobby asks after a long stretch of safe, silent road.

“It don’t seem like they’re coming after us,” Rufus says.

Dean lets out a groan. “Damnit, man, never fucking say stuff like that. The gods of irony are always listening.”

Once again, Castiel is at a loss. “Dean, there are no gods of–”

The car that slams into the passenger side of their stolen van seems to prove Castiel very wrong.

Castiel moves swiftly, completely on instinct and without regard for anything other than the safety of the mortal beside him and his family. His wings fan out fast enough to absorb the impact of the other car, at least on the human bodies. He checks pulses and consciousness quickly before bursting from the ruined door, the crumpled metal exploding from the force of his protective rage.

The decaying true face of the minor demon driving the car melts from a grin to shock as it sees Castiel and then terror as it see the blade in Castiel’s hand.

“No! Shit! The boss said you fuckers weren’t gonna interfere!” the demon shrieks.

Castiel does not bother to ask what that means before driving his blade into the abomination’s chest. The corrupted soul extinguishes in a shivering, smoking flash.

“I fucking told you so,” Dean says – Castiel assumes to Rufus – as the others emerge from the car. Castiel scans the darkening horizon for other threats as Dean approaches. “Nice work for a dude running on fumes.”

“I was motivated,” Castiel mutters, though he too is surprised that the effort does not seem to have tired him the same way the journey to Wyoming did.

“Yeah, the demon-kebab gave that away,” Dean says.

“Does this mean we’re walking to the gates of Hell?” Rufus asks, kicking the tires of the ruined van.

“Hope those seven toes are steady,” Bobby says as they start moving down the road.

Dean shakes his head and follows, looking nervously at the darkening sky. “We’re not gonna get there fast enough.”

Castiel shrinks into himself in shame. “I’m sorry, I can’t get us there without…”

“Cas, no, it’s okay,” Dean stops him. “I get it. We need whatever juice you have for…whatever’s gonna happen.”

“I hope I can be of some use,” Castiel muses as they quicken their pace and the distant rumble of an engine sounds in the distance on the lonely road.

“I’m pretty sure you’re more useful than all of us combined,” Dean says warmly, kindness in his eyes that almost makes Castiel believe the words. He at least hopes he lives up to them.

 

 

Mary keeps a few paces behind the boys. Well, not really boys; one boy and one continually surprising angel. Still, she can’t be blamed for thinking of them that way. She doesn’t know Cas that well, but he certainly looks human enough sometimes to think of as a boy, or man, or whatever. More than that, the way Dean looks at him and treats him makes him feel like family already. It should be unsettling, but after a life killing things that shouldn’t exist, maybe she’s just numb. Cas fills a void in Dean’s life that Mary didn’t even know was there, and that’s good enough for her. Of course that doesn’t mean she’s gonna let Dean off the hook in terms of teasing him, especially when she sees him start to reach for Cas’s hand as they walk.

The sound of a car slowing down behind them puts a stop to that. Dean’s hand redirects to his gun and Castiel draws his blade. God help them if it’s just a kind motorist. They all spin as the brakes screech in the deepening twilight, Bobby and Rufus taking aim as well. What they see is better than a demon or good Samaritan.

“What the hell are you morons doing? Hitchhiking to the end of the world?” Ellen yells as she rolls down the window of her beat up Suburban. Everyone drops their aims.

“Well, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Bobby sighs.

“Saw the wreck back there, and the body in the road,” Ellen says, shaking her head.

“More demons,” Mary explains.

“Since when does stabbing work on demons? And who the hell are you?” Mary doesn’t even have to check that Ellen directed that at Cas.

“This is Cas. He’s an angel and I don’t mean that as a metaphor,” Mary replies and Ellen’s brows shoot up. “The of the Lord type. I told you the guy Dean found was good.”

“You’re telling me the whole story when this shitshow is over,” Ellen mutters. “And I’m sorry but two of you have to get cozy in the way back.”

“They won’t mind,” Bobby says, indicating Dean and Cas, before Mary can say the same thing.

Dean scowls and Cas looks perplexed as usual, but neither waste time arguing.

“We gotta move fast, Ellen,” Mary warns as she takes her place in the front seat. “I’m getting a bad feeling about this.”

Ellen doesn’t argue, just guns the engine and sets off. No one speaks as they race down the highway then on to increasingly obscure roads until they’re just following grooves in the dirt.

“Are we sure we’re going the right direction?” Rufus asks because that’s what he does.

“Yes,” Cas answers from far in the back. “There’s a demon guarding the road ahead,” he warns, exactly as a familiar silhouette becomes visible ahead of them and golden hair catches the headlights.

“Jo,” Ellen whispers. She slams the brakes, jolting them all forward.

“Ellen, wait!” Mary yells but it’s too late. Ellen’s out of the car, the others all stumbling out after her as she runs. Mary can’t blame her one bit because all she wants to do is keep running and make it to Sam. But there’s a demon in her way.

“Get out of my kid, you bitch!” Ellen screams.

The demon turns to them, black eyes glinting. “Oh good, the cavalry’s here. Too bad you’re not gonna make it in time to stop kick off.” The demon raises a hand and Mary braces herself for the first push of its power but it doesn’t come. Instead the thing screams as _she_ is thrown back against some invisible barrier. It’s the railroad that the demon can’t pass and an angry angel has her pinned against its boundary.

“You _again_?!” The demon screams as Cas advances on her, hand raised and all the rage of heaven glowing in his eyes. “You just can’t get enough of me, huh, Clarence?”

“Leave this body _now_ ,” Cas commands.

“Ask nicely” the demon mocks, licking her lips in glee.

“If you insist,” Ellen growls. “E _xorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus_.” The wind picks up as Ellen begins and even though she continues to smile, the demon starts to struggle. The hunters assemble behind Ellen, except for Dean. He stands by a straining Castiel who holds the demon in place with power that seems to glow. _“Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica!_ ”

“You’re going to be too late!” The demon cries. “You’ve got minutes before that door opens and miles to go!”

“Dean, you have to go,” Castiel says, turning to Dean, every muscle tense, then looking to Mary as well. “Stop Sam.”

“ _Ergo, draco maledicte. Ecclesiam tuam securi tibi facias libertate servire,_ ” Ellen cries over the now howling wind. The stars that had just been brightening minutes before are gone behind black clouds that are speeding towards them like they’re alive. Mary realizes in horror that they probably are.

“Daddy’s home,” Meg laughs.

“Go! Now!”

 _“Te rogamus, audi nos_!”

“Cas!” Dean’s voice echoes in Mary’s ear in the sudden silence and stillness of the decrepit graveyard they find themselves in. “Shit!”

“He’ll be fine, Dean,” Mary hisses, completely unconvinced herself. “We need to find…”

“Are we sure about this?”

Mary and Dean both spin at the sound of Sam’s voice in the darkness.              

“Yes, come on, it’s time!” Another voice says, this one female and insistent.

“Ava,” Dean whispers as they pick their way through the gravestones until Sam comes into sight, barely visible in the faint moonlight. He’s standing by a crypt holding the Colt in front of something that looks like an intricate lock.

“Sam, no!” Mary yells, rushing towards her son, with Dean on her heels. “Whatever she or Jo told you, it’s a trick! It’s a lie!”

“Mom?” Sam asks as he turns, blinking at Mary. “Dean?”

“Sammy, drop the gun now!” Dean bellows and Sam obeys automatically.

“What the hell?” Sam’s face is a mess of confusion and relief and maybe even anger as Mary comes within reach of him. Dean has his weapon out and aimed at Ava, who raises her hands, face full of panic.

“Sam, what the hell is happening?” Ava demands, voice shaking.

“I don’t know…” Sam looks between his mother, Dean, and the girl.

“Sam, everything this girl has ever told you is a lie,” Dean says furiously.

Mary wants nothing more than to grab Sam, pull him close and bash Ava’s head against a gravestone for good measure, but she’s cautious. “She’s working for the demons,” Mary warns, taking another step closer.

“What? That’s insane!” Ava protests and Dean cocks his gun. “Sam! Come on, you know me! I’m not working for Azazel!”

“Who?” Sam turns to Ava as devastation finally fills his face.

“Weird how she’d know the demon’s name when you don’t, huh?” Dean sneers.

“Crap,” Ava sighs, her face transforming from horror to annoyance in an instant. “I really had you going there for a while though, didn’t I, Sam?”

“But…Jo?” Sam demands, aghast.

“Jo’s possessed!” Dean yells. “By the same bitch that killed Grandpa!”

“What?” Sam balks.

“Sam come on, we’ve got to get out of here.” Mary takes her son’s hand and allows one moment of pure relief to sweep through her before she returns to fight mode.

“Why?” Sam asks, staring at Ava, who still doesn’t look at all worried to have a gun pointed at her head.

“Because I’m like you, Sam,” Ava replies. “Special. Our Father – our true Father – he blessed us both with his blood. You think you have dreams about the future just because?” Mary looks frantically to Dean for any sign that he knew about this and his mouth is a tense line of anger and guilt. “We’re going to create a whole new world, and you’re the one who’s going to lead us.”

“What?” Sam’s hand tightens around Mary’s.

“You’re not a freak, Sam. You’re our prince,” Ava continues, her eyes wide and wild. “You have to be the one, otherwise there’s no reason Heaven itself would try to keep you from us.”

“How about you start shutting up?” Dean snarls, adjusting his aim at the girl. “There’s not gonna be a new world or whatever. It’s over.”

“Yeah…no.” Ava raises a hand and sends Dean flying across the cemetery. He topples over a tombstone and into an unmoving heap on the ground.

“Dean!” Sam cries, just as Ava turns and uses the same power on Mary, but it only throws her about half as far. It’s enough time for Ava to make the Colt fly to her hand, aiming it at Sam and stopping him mid-charge.

“Move and she dies, Sam,” Ava snaps, now aiming the gun at Mary as she rises from the ground.

“Ava what are you doing?” Sam asks desperately.

“Father wanted you to be the one to do this, he’s poetic like that, but it doesn’t have to be,” Ava replies, a terrifying grin on her face as she backs away until she’s at the crypt. Peripherally, Mary hears Dean groan, sees Sam twitching to move as he looks between them. “Sorry, Sam. You’ll thank me one day.” Ava moves swiftly, slipping the Colt into the lock and twisting it too fast for Sam to stop her as he dives.

The gears on the crypt begin to churn and click as ancient locks clang open and the ground begins to shake. The wind picks up and Ava laughs, stepping back from the crypt as the final pentacle tumbles into place.

“Here we –” Ava’s words are cut off by the sound of a gunshot. Then another. She looks down at her chest, where two red wounds are blossoming, more in curiosity than in horror. She looks back up to where Sam has Dean’s gun pointed at her. “I knew you had it in you, Sammy,” she whispers before she falls.

“Sam get back!” Dean yells too late as the devil’s gate bursts open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I chose the town of Rock Springs on a total whim and it turns out it's actually [visible on the map in "All Hell Breaks Loose, Part 2" ](http://www.homeofthenutty.com/supernatural/screencaps/displayimage.php?album=44&pid=182139#top_display_media)  
> when they show Colt's railroads! It was a neat coincidence!


	15. Carry That Weight

**~~Hell's asshole~~ , Colt's cemetery, Wyoming**

 

“Sam!” Dean yells, grabbing his brother and shielding him just as _all of fucking Hell itself_ bursts out of the gate.

“What is that?” Sam yells over the roar of demons and who-knows-what-else pouring out of the gaping door.

“It’s a door to hell is what it is!” Dean shouts back. He pulls Sam up just as Mom reaches them, her face pale and determined.

“We have to get it closed!” she orders as the wind whips her hair into her face. “Before they-” The screeching sound of metal against metal and a thunderous explosion cuts her off. The devils aren't trapped any more. “Shit.”

“What was _that_?” Sam demands, new horror on his face.

“Demon family reunion!” Dean barks. “Come on!”

Trying to get to the gate is like walking straight into a hurricane, except for the part where dead people keep walking _through_ them and stinking clouds of black smoke keep jetting past. They finally reach the gates and Dean and Sam each take a side, with Mom next to Sam. Dean doesn’t know why he thought _this_ of all the things would be easy; but trying to move the door is like pushing a car up hill. In quicksand.

_Cas, if you’re listening – because you better fucking still be alive or I will kick your ass – we could use some help here if you’re free._

“Dean, we got company!” Sam yells across the vortex. Dean turns to see shadows that look a lot like actual possessed people striding through the graves.

“Get that fucking door closed!” Mom yells. She leaves Sam and draws two pistols from her belt. The bullets she unloads hit with what would be deadly aim if she wasn’t shooting at demons, but they slow a few of them down at least. If Dean manages to live through this he’s really got to compliment Mom on the fact she’s such a fucking badass. As it stands they’re making some progress on the door but Dean has no idea if they’re gonna get it shut before the other demons get there and tear them to shreds.

“Cas, this would be a really good time!” Dean yells.

“I heard you the first time,” the most wonderful gravelly voice Dean has ever heard intones from behind him. Across the gate Sam’s eye go wide as light – not the hellfire light from inside the gate, Cas’s kind of light – flashes and the doors to the crypt slam shut. Mom spins away from the advancing demons, grabs the Colt from the lock and takes aim.

The first shot makes all of the dozen advancing demons stop, their black and red (what the hell?) eyes going wide. They watch as a one of their own staggers, light flashes and sputters inside him before he drops dead.

“Now, did you bother to count how many bullets you got there?” A relaxed voice asks from the back of the crowd. A man that could have been a teacher or janitor or who knows what in another life strides forward. Dean doesn’t know the face of course, but he would know those yellow eyes anywhere, even though he’s only seen them in nightmares. Most of the other demons nod in deference as Azazel passes through them to the front of the group, except one squat character with red eyes and a smirk. Beside Dean, Castiel straightens and brandishes his blade.

“Only need one,” Mom replies steadily, taking aim at the demon’s skull.

“Oh, Mary, Mary, quite contrary. Still spunky after all these years,” Azazel grins. “Go ahead. Kill me. Then my friends here will kill you and those compadres of yours heading this way. It won’t change what I’ve started.” The yellow eyes move to Dean and then to the angel beside him. Azazel’s rotten grin widens. “Nothing and no one can change these boys’ destiny.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that, dickwad.” Dean really wishes he still had his pistol because he feels pretty naked staring down the biggest bad he’s ever met armed with nothing but attitude and a smile.

“You think this reject perching on your shoulder is going to save you?” Azazel asks, sizing Cas up in a way that has Dean’s blood boiling. “He’s just making things worse. Good thing he won’t be around for too long.”

“If you touch him I swear…” Dean growls, and Azazel only chuckles as he turns to Sam.

“Oh, Sammy,” the demon purrs. “You’ve certainly grown up strong. Not quite where I’d want you, but we’ll get you there.”

“What’d you do to me?” Sam demands so furiously it scares Dean a bit. “What am I supposed to do?”

“I didn’t do anything, really,” Azazel answers with a shrug. “Gave you a little boost, did the same for a lot of kids in the right bloodlines. But what you are, what you’re meant for? That’s all you, my boy.”

“That’s enough,” Mom orders, pulling back the hammer on the Colt and drawing back the demon’s attention. Dean hold his breath, watching for a sign of fear in Azazel’s face that doesn’t appear.

“You’re right, it is,” Yellow Eyes smiles and starts to move. Dean feels like everything goes into slow motion: his mother flying backward, the gunshot that sounds and the bullet that misses, Cas charging, Sam yelling. And the one demon who hadn’t looked afraid of Azazel making eye contact with Dean…and winking before snapping his fingers.

Dean’s suddenly in the dirt, floundering on extremely tombstone-less ground. The sound of a shotgun being primed give him somewhere where to look at least. There are figures standing over them silhouetted by headlight that hadn’t been there a second before.

“Mary?” one of the figures asks.

“Bobby?” Mom asks, standing up  beside Dean and spinning.

“Where the hell did you…” Bobby asks.

“We gotta move, now!” Mom commands. They all – and yeah Dean does a quick count and all four of them are there – right themselves and head towards the cars (plural? Where the fuck did that pick-up come from?). Rufus is standing next to where Ellen is clutching Jo to her chest. “Come on,” Mom prompts.

Dean takes a second to check on Sam, who looks completely shell-shocked, and Cas, who seem surprisingly okay.

“Is it over?” Bobby asks, nodding to Rufus and the truck. Mom shakes her head tightly as she take the driver’s seat of the Suburban.

“It's just started,” she says.

 

**I-80, Wyoming**

 

Mom slows down around two hundred miles from the cemetery and turns off the radio she’d been adjusting, listening for news. Sam looks down at his hands, which have finally stopped shaking, and clears his throat. No time like the present.

“So, uh, is anyone gonna…catch me up before I get chewed out?” he asks the quiet car. He’s in the front seat, next to Mom. Ellen and Jo are in the third row, Jo’s head nestled against her mom’s chest as Ellen pets her hair and holds her close. Just the sight of it makes Sam feel sick with guilt. Rufus and Bobby took the pick-up that Jo, or the demon who had been controlling her, had used. Which left Dean in the middle row with his very weird new friend. “Maybe introduce me to the new guy?”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean mutters, sending Mom a weird look in the rear view. “This is Cas.”

“Cas, like your –” Sam stops himself from saying the word ‘imaginary’ because there’s no reason to get his brother more pissed off at him than he already is. But it is a weird coincidence. “Your old friend?”

“Not ‘like,’ Sammy,” Dean says. “This _is_ Cas. Castiel if you wanna get formal. The actual angel.”

“ _What_?” Sam turns more fully in his seat to look at the irritated looking man sitting next to Dean. His hair is in disarray and his jaw is shadowed with stubble. Maybe his eyes are a bit bluer than is normal but…“But he’s just a guy.”

“This is only a vessel. My true form is several thousand times larger and observing it would result in your immediate death.”

“Do _not_ do the wing thing in the car, please,” Mom orders and Sam blinks in astonishment.

“Wing… _what_?” Sam repeats. If Mom believes this…

“I owe you about seven thousand I told you sos,” Dean says with a smirk as he proudly stretches his arm on the seatback behind Cas.

“How…”

“Long story short, Ash’s tip was right,” Dean explains. “But come on, who do you think closed that gate and zapped us outta there?”

“Actually that wasn’t me. The ‘zapping’ that is,” Cas says. Mom and Dean shoot him identical Very Surprised and Worried looks. Cas doesn’t seem concerned by the attention. “The power that moved us felt…distinctly demonic.”

“Why would Azazel send us _away_?” Mom asks before Dean or Sam can do it.

“It wasn’t him,” Dean answers quietly, and Sam can see the gears turning in his head. “It was that little guy, the smarmy looking dude that was looking at us. Uh, black suit, and red eyes.”

“A crossroad demon,” Cas says. “And a very powerful one.”

“But why would he save us?” Mom asks.

“I don’t know.” Cas replies. “They certainly had enough forces to kill those of us they didn’t need.”

“You mean me,” Sam mutters, looking down and fiddling with a loose thread on the hem of his jacket.

“Sam…” Dean says gently, placating.

“I still don’t get what the point was in opening that thing at all,” Mom interjects, and Sam thinks the question is meant for Cas. “So they let out a bunch of demons, how does that get us closer to the end of the world?”

“It wasn’t about the demons.” Everyone’s head turns and Mom nearly swerves off the road at the sound of Jo’s shaking voice. “It was about freeing one demon in particular.”

“Jo, honey,” Ellen coos, but the pale girl sits up and takes a deep breath.

“That thing. Meg. She liked to talk,” Jo explains. “They needed to open the gate to free a demon called Lilith.”

The look of alarm of Cas’s face is subtle but unmistakable.

“You know her?” Dean asks.

“Lilith isn’t just a demon,” Cas says slowly. “She’s the _first_ demon. The first human corrupted by Lucifer into an abomination as direct insult to God. That’s what started the war and led to his imprisonment.”

“So, she’s bad news,” Dean remarks. “And?”

Dean barely seems fazed by this information but it has Sam’s head spinning. Demons were human? Lucifer is imprisoned? Sam’s starting to think the phrase ‘end of the world’ wasn’t just hyperbole.

“She knows how to set Lucifer free,” Jo states. That at least makes Dean blink.

“And that starts the apocalypse,” Mom whispers because apparently she got the memo too.

Sam is starting to feel even sicker and more scared than he was before. “What were they gonna do with me if I opened that gate and you didn’t stop me?” Sam tries not to let his voice shake. “Yellow – Azazel was talking about my destiny and how I was special and…”

“Keep you, corrupt you,” Jo answers numbly. “Meg was kinda vague on that.”

Sam can’t help but notice that Dean is avoiding his eyes. “You know what they need me for, don’t you?”

“Sammy, the first thing you need to understand here is that destiny is a load of crap,” Dean begins.

 

**Wednesday, June 12, 2002**

**The Roadhouse**

5:04 a.m.

 

Dean isn’t asleep and Castiel finds that worrying. The man has been awake for over twenty-four hours, a great deal of it spent in various states of panic and peril, and now, when he has a bed in a small, private room in the back of the Roadhouse he remains stubbornly conscious. Though the thin wood of the door Castiel can hear that the rhythm of Dean’s breathing is erratic. Also there’s movement. Towards the door where Castiel should not be…

“What are you doing?” Dean asks tiredly as he opens the door.

“I wanted to see if you were resting,” Castiel replies, hoping it adequately expresses his concern.

“You were lurking in the hallway.”

“That is one way of putting it, yes.” For some reason his vessel’s cheeks feel warm. “You should be sleeping.”

“Yeah, well, so should you,” Dean mutters. “You look like crap.”

“I don’t require-”

Dean waves away the words and instead pulls Cas into the cramped dormitory without ceremony. “You _didn’t_ require sleep,” he corrects. “I think that’s changed now that you’re…” He doesn’t use words, just huffs an exhausted breath and gestures vaguely at Castiel. “I’ll sleep if you sleep. Deal?”

“Fine,” Castiel says, too worn out by the last day to argue. Maybe it will help.

The journey from Wyoming had not been restful at all, even for the humans for whom sleep was a necessity. No one had been able to sleep after they had explained to Sam what his destined role in the apocalypse was. The younger Winchester had accepted it rather well, thanks to Dean’s way of making it sound like God’s plan was just another easily overcome obstacle for them. Mary too had been what Cas believes is called ‘supportive.’ She had assured Sam that the worst was not going to happen. Cas had wanted to console the boy as well, but he didn’t have the right words for that kind of lie yet.

“Are you just gonna stand there and think or are you gonna get over here?” Dean says, bringing back Castiel’s attention to the moment.

“I’m not sure how I’m supposed to proceed actually,” Castiel answers with a shrug. Dean heaves a sigh before taking Castiel’s wrist and leading him to the sagging mattress.

“Lying down helps.” Dean does just that. His face is expectant as he waits for Castiel to do the same, which the angel accomplishes rather stiffly, but he hopes adequately.

“No dream snooping now, okay?” Dean warns, turning on his side and adjusting his pillow.

Castiel is curious as to if the position will be more comfortable than on his back, so he mirrors it. It is indeed more soothing. “I promise I won’t invade your privacy,” Castiel tells Dean and watches the human’s expression soften into a tired smile.

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean mutters.

“What next?” Castiel asks, more curious than urgent. He’s quite content to lie here and look at Dean; let his perception phase through the planes and observe freckled skin and sparkling soul with…enjoyment? Affection could certainly be a word for it too.

“Well, normal people just…close their eyes and drift away,” Dean explains patiently but does not close his own eyes. Instead he looks into Castiel’s and it's beautiful. For some reason, it makes Castiel think of Heaven. Yes, affection is an adequate word for how he regards Dean, but perhaps adoration might be more fitting. “Which I’m…gonna do,” Dean declares after a while.

“I think I’ll keep my eyes open for a while,” Castiel says and Dean gifts him with a bemused smile.

“Yeah, you do that, Cas.” Dean leans in and presses his lips to the angel’s forehead. “G’night, Cas,” Dean breathes and finally closes his eyes.

Castiel watches Dean, matching the rhythm of his own breathing to Dean’s. For some reason Castiel’s heart had been beating much faster than normal, but it slows the longer he stays still. He lets the warmth of Dean’s whole being seep into his skin and grace alike and again is reminded of home. Eventually his eyes close too, almost against his will, and Castiel lets himself…drift. He lets his wings unfurl into the ether, though they are heavy with weakness and wear, he still wraps them around the mortal beside him before he sinks into his own dreams.

 

Dean is always older, in Castiel’s dreams. He remembers this now. There is a heaviness to him too that is strange but not unfamiliar. His smile is not as easy and sometimes it does not reach his eyes. Eyes that reflect horrors cut from brimstone and blackness. He still laughs though. Still prays. Still bleeds and seethes and rails and speaks to Castiel of freedom. It’s a lesson Castiel is not good at teaching, even when his voice is loud enough to reach the heavens. But his hands are covered in blood. First red, then black.

 

Pounding on the door wakes Castiel first. He confirms that waking up pressed close to Dean is by far the most pleasant thing about sleeping.

“Dean, there’s lunch…or breakfast or whatever,” Sam’s voice calls through the door. “And I think Mom is about ready to give me the chewing out of a lifetime, so…”

Castiel groans a bit as Dean disentangles himself and struggles out of his arms then rights himself as Dean cracks the door.

“Fine, great. We’ll be there in five,” Dean mutters, rubbing his eyes. “Save me a place in line to kick your ass.”

Sam takes a beat before giving a tired chuckle. “I’m at the head of that one, believe me,” he mutters. “You two sleep okay?”

“Not well enough to not need coffee,” Dean says.

Sam rolls his eyes. “See you in a few.”

Dean nods and closes the door to look back at Cas and something dawns on his face. “Oh, crap,” Dean says before bolting back out the door, presumably after his brother.

Castiel makes a note to ask about it later. And to thank Dean for the suggestion of sleeping. He does indeed feel better.

 

 

“Sam!”

Mary looks up from the coffee mugs on the table between her and Bobby to see Dean rushing after Sam into the bar.

“Everything okay?” Bobby asks.

“Everything is fine!” Dean replies, voice higher than normal as he grabs at Sam. “I just need to – I didn’t – I have to talk with Sam about –” Dean flounders as Sam fights a smirk.

“Oh, I think this is about Cas,” Mary tells Bobby with a warm sigh and he gives a click of his tongue and a knowing nod.

“What?!” Dean yelps as Sam snickers, ducking behind the bar away from Dean’s gasp. “You, shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything!” Sam protests. “Just go shower and brush your teeth, you stink.”

Dean sighs heavily and turns to leave while Mary sends Bobby a smug look. “Sam’s right, I’m sure Cas doesn’t appreciate the morning breath.”

“Mom!” Dean yelps as Sam bursts out laughing.

“I’m just looking out for you, honey,” Mary says in a too-sweet tone that has Bobby shaking his head in amusement.

“You’re a cruel woman,” he mutters into his coffee as Dean retreats, face red as a beet.

“That’s why you love me,” Mary replies.

Bobby hides his smile behind his coffee but his eyes are warm. “Glad those idjits are alive.”

“Me too,” Mary says as she watches Sam put together a huge plate of food from the dishes Ellen left out. Ash drifts in a minute later and looks up at Sam like he might be a particularly tall hallucination before he heads back out.

“So, are Jo and Ellen steering clear of me too?” Sam asks as he joins them at the table. The sunlight through the dirty windows falls in pales shafts, and the overhead lights are off. Even in the dimness Mary can see the guilt written across her son’s face.

“No one blames you for this, Sam,” Mary tells him, trying to sound gentle.

“Let me guess, you’re not mad, you’re just disappointed,” he murmurs as he picks at the wilted broccoli on his plate.

“Oh no, we’re mad,” Bobby counters and Sam goes a bit pale. “Now that we don’t have to worry that your fool ass is dead, we’re furious.”

Mary sighs and puts a hand over Bobby’s to silence him. “What we’re saying is that what you did was stupid and reckless, but I know you didn’t mean harm. And the reasons you did it…I take the blame for that.”

“Mom…”

Mary shakes her head. “I haven’t trusted you, ever, and I’ve been so scared of losing you like I lost your father or Grandpa, that I lost sight of things. You’re smart and you’re strong, Sam, and I’m so sorry I let my fears make me forget that. But you’re also my kid and I’ll never stop wanting to protect you.”

“What about that thing where I’m the antichrist?” Sam mutters, though he seems more at ease.

“Well, no one’s perfect,” Bobby says with a shrug and Sam manages a laugh.

Mary smiles at him, hoping he sees the love in it.

“And you’re not the antichrist,” comes a low voice from across the room. Mary raises an eyebrow as Castiel enters, looking a bit more rumpled than usual. “The antichrist is the spawn of a demon and a human whose powers would only be active once Lucifer freely walks the earth. You’re just the angelic vessel of the devil that’s been strengthened by demon blood.”

“See, nothing to worry about,” Mary jokes weakly. Sam looks a bit ill but gives Cas a grateful nod that earns a pleased smile from the angel. “Before she got you to Wyoming, where were you and Ava going anyway?” Mary asks, turning her attention away from Cas’s curious examination of his lunch option and back to Sam.

“Oh, uh…” Sam looks up bashfully from under his too-long bangs. “California. I sorta…got into Stanford as a transfer.”

Mary’s mouth falls open as too many sentiments bottleneck in her brain. “You – how – Sam that’s amazing. And I can’t ask why you didn’t tell us, cause I know the answer but…”

“That’s damn impressive, boy,” Bobby says, eyes narrow but warm. “You find a buyer for your kidney to pay for it?”

“No, uh.” Sam’s blushing now. “Got a full ride.”

“Well, ain’t that a thing,” Bobby grins.

Mary doesn’t say anything, just stands up and pulls her son into a hug right where he sits. At least in this position she can pretend he’s still smaller than her.

“Did I miss something?” Dean asks from behind them somewhere. “I thought we were kicking his ass.”

“Later,” Mary mutters into Sam’s head. “Though I may ask you to hold him down while I give him a haircut.”

“Can you catch me up?” she hears her older son ask his angel.

“They seem to be proud that Sam’s plan for running away involved something called Stanford,” Cas says and Dean barks out a surprised laugh.

“Holy crap, lil’ bro,” Dean says. Mary figures it’s finally time to let Sam go as Dean comes over to clap him on the back. “Now we just, ya know, gotta make sure the world doesn’t end so you can go.”

“Yeah, simple.” Sam looks over to where Cas is standing awkwardly at the edge of the room. “Stanford is a college,” he explains.

“A really friggin’ good one,” Dean adds.

“Oh, uh, congratulations,” Cas says with a ‘is that correct?’ look towards Dean, who nods encouragingly.

“Uh, thanks,” Sam replies.

“Can we get back to the issue at hand now?” Bobby interjects. “You know, the apocalypse.”

“Yeah, we wouldn’t wanna be happy for too long,” Dean mutters. “I need food for this. You too,” he adds to Cas and that makes Mary keep smiling for a few minutes more.

 

∞

 

Dean does a pretty decent job of avoiding being alone with anyone until he’s packing up the Suburban for the ride back to Sioux Falls. Surprisingly, it’s Ellen that manages to corner him first.

“You lot sure about heading out so fast?” she asks, though she already knows that Mom’s made a decision and no one is arguing.

“Well, we left the dog alone which means he’s eaten the whole kitchen,” Dean jokes weakly. Ellen doesn’t crack a smile. “How’s Jo?”

“Still shaken up but she’ll be okay. She’s a strong kid,” Ellen replies. “Says the thing found us cause it took a look at your phone of all things.”

“Shit,” Dean whispers. “Ellen, I didn’t…”

“I know you didn’t mean for any of this,” Ellen says. “Your mama didn’t mean for Bill to die in this fight either. But it still happened.” Dean considers protesting but he doesn’t actually know what to say. “Now, I opened this place to honor Bill, to try and do some good in this world. But what happened to my girl? I am never letting anything like that get close to her again if I can help it.”

“And by anything, you mean us,” Dean translates.

“I’m sorry, kid,” Ellen sighs. “I love you, but I got think about her.”

“Yeah, I understand,” Dean mutters. Ellen gives him a nod and turns away just in time to see Sam approaching. Dean doesn’t miss the way she avoids his eyes as they pss each other and from the look on his face neither does Sam.

“I tried to say bye to Jo,” his brother tells Dean as he joins him by the car.

“How did that go?” Dean asks, though he can guess.

“Crappy,” Sam replies with a huff. “I deserve it though.”

“Sam…”

“Let’s talk about you instead,” Sam deflects and Dean rolls his eyes.

“What’s there to talk about?” Dean gets a familiar ‘are you shitting me?’ look for that one.

“What’s up with you and Cas?”

Dean slams the trunk and at that and starts walking in an unspecified direction.

“Come on, man! Are you sleeping with him or what?” Sam demands, his annoyingly long legs easily helping to catch up with Dean.

“No! I mean, we like…slept. But we didn’t you know, _sleep_.”

“Is there a language where that sentence made sense?”

Dean’s face is burning again. Waking up with Cas had felt so…normal he hadn’t even thought about Sam catching them until it was too late. At least his body had been polite enough to maintain just enough exhaustion to tamp down the morning wood because Sam or Cas or any combination thereof catching _that_ would have necessitated flinging himself into the sun.

“Look, dude, it’s complicated,” Dean says in a tone that some might call whining.

“Yeah, he’s a freaking _angel_.”

“Who’s literally experiencing these kinds of…feelings for the first time. I don’t wanna scare him off again.”

Sam looks intrigued. “Again?”

“I, uh…” Dean rubs the back of his neck. Screw it. “I kinda kissed him, uh, yesterday.”

“You what?” Sam exclaims, half laughing. “And?”

“And he fucking _flew away_ , Sam. Literally!” Dean yelps back. “So we’re, uh…taking it slow or, ya know, not talking about it at all, maybe. I’m not sure.”

“Dude, you are so screwed.”

“Yeah, I got that part,” Dean mutters, kicking the dirt. “So?”

“So what?”

“So _what do I do_? You’re the smart one. Tell me what to do!”

“Dude, I just spent three months dating a chick raised by demons who wanted me to end the world,” Sam says. “Way to make me look even worse by the way, with the whole, dating an angel thing. It’s symmetrical, really.”

“Sam, you didn’t know.” Dean can see the raw hurt just underneath Sam’s sarcasm. Even that fades as Sam looks down at the dusty ground, swallowing back emotion.

“Dean, I killed her,” Sam whispers.

“She was a murderer, Sammy, and we just went over the whole chief cheerleader for Satan thing,” Dean argues though he knows it’s hollow. He still thinks about all the other bodies he’s seen in the last few days. Innocent folk that demons just happened to hop into and ended up on the wrong side of a weapon.

“She was a person,” Sam murmurs. “And it scares me how easy it was for me to forget that just because I was…what? Angry?”

“Sammy, come on,” Dean says, though he can’t say that what happened in the cemetery didn’t scare the shit out of him now that he thinks about it. But he knows his brother. “You’re not evil.”

“Thanks,” Sam replies softly. “Keep reminding me of that, okay?”

“You got it.” Dean pulls him down into a hug that he hopes reassures him. “Oh no…” he groans as he looks over Sam’s shoulder to see Mom heading out of the Roadhouse deep in conversation with Cas. He nearly trips over himself as Sam stifles his pleased laughter.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says with a gentle smile. “Sam,” he adds after a moment.

“Hey, Cas,” Sam replies, like a normal person who can form words. “You guys talking about anything interesting?”

“We were discussing Dean’s childhood and adolescence,” Cas replies and Dean’s face goes pale with horror.

“Comparing notes, really,” Mom smiles. Dean wonders if he can learn Cas’s teleporting trick by sheer force of mortification.

“Oh, I got some stories too,” Sam says with a grin. “This is gonna be a fun car ride.”

“Maybe I’ll ride with Bobby and Rufus,” Dean mutters.

“Go ahead, honey,” Mom says with a deadly grin. “I’m really enjoying getting to know your…Cas.”

“Then again, maybe I shouldn’t leave you unsupervised,” Dean laments as Mom and Sam head for the front seats.

“Wouldn’t want to deprive you of any cuddling,” Sam whispers as he passes.

“I will put nair in your shampoo again, jerk,” Dean growls.

“Oh you’re on, bitch,” Sam cackles.

“Language,” Mom chides as Cas looks between them curiously.

Dean shakes his head and pushes Cas into the car. “I’ll…explain later.”

 

**Somewhere dark, possibly Ohio**

 

Ava doesn’t understand how she’s moving. Or where she is or how they got there. She knows she is a ‘they’ now, though. The black smoke that had slipped into her mouth as she lay bleeding out in the cemetery is what moves her now. It smiles with Ava’s lips and speaks to others with Ava’s voice. Its own voice is wretched and thin, like the scrape of knife on bone. It doesn’t say much so far, has little regard for Ava as it pulls her through dark, underground places, following behind the other.

Ava is afraid of her, of the thing that she is forced to follow. It is bone white and withered and _huge_ within the woman it has taken. She has already watched it do things, cruel, cutting terrible things. Ava can’t banish the sound of the screams from her memory. She asks the smoke again and again if this is Hell.

_Technically, no._

Ava is shocked when the demon replies.

_Though, your soul is earmarked for it, honey, don’t worry. You ain’t getting out of that deal._

Ava had known when she’d made the contract to learn Sam’s location that it meant her soul would be damned. She’d been happy. She was going to be with her family. Be like them. She hadn’t known. She hadn’t seen.

_Oh quit whining. Get over the buyer’s remorse and be happy I even let you stay in here. You’d be roasting now if I wasn’t such a softie._

Meg? Something like hope leaps in what Ava has that passes for a heart and the thing just laughs, rippling black under Ava’s skin.

 _Nah, though you’ll see her soon. Big things afoot._ Sigils are drawn in chalk and sulfur and blood. Fires are lit from bones. They are waiting. The demon in Ava and the other. _We have names you, know, sweet cheeks. The boss there, that’s Lilith._ Ava’s soul shrinks a bit in terror and awe. She should have known. _You can call me Ruby._

“Long time no see,” a voice familiar to both of them calls from the shadows. Ava has never seen her father’s true face: Yellow smoke and rotting flesh and a permanently fixed, razor-toothed grin.

“What’s it been, seven hundred years?” Lilith asks with acid in her tone. “Since you let those librarians banish me?”

“Let’s not dwell on the past,” Azazel purrs. “Abaddon took care of most of them, if that makes you feel better.” The two circle each other like wolves, yellow and white flickering over the faces they have stolen. Ava can’t decide if it is beautiful or grotesque.

 _Try boring_. _Oh, and here’s the minion._ Ava hadn’t seen the other much smaller demon that followed Azazel into the meeting place. There is also something familiar about her…Meg. Her face isn’t like the others. It’s sharp and twisted, blackened bone and flesh…but there’s still something human about it. Not like the things that are facing off between them, things that stopped being human before the written word existed...

On the outside Ruby rolls her eyes. Meg sends her – them? – a curious look and Ruby gives her a nod. There’s clear relief on Meg’s face and Ava hopes it’s for her.

“Yes, let’s look at the present and the mess I’ve returned to,” Lilith hisses. “Our Knights are gone and from what I hear Cain has abandoned us. Our forces are weak and pathetic and you couldn’t even get a single righteous soul into the pit for me.”

 _Uh oh. Daddy’s in trouble_ , Ruby cackles as Azazel and Meg flare in offence.

“It wasn’t our fault that a fucking _angel_ screwed things up!” Meg growls and within herself, Ava feels proud.

“I’m not blaming you…entirely,” Lilith replies dangerously. “I’m blaming our friends in high places.” Lilith addresses that to the ceiling and the light that shines in answer is blinding. Ruby’s eyes burn at the sight of the new entity that explodes into the cavernous room and the air is full of screaming. For a moment, Ruby retreats so fully that Ava can feel her own hands and skin again and look with her own eyes…at the bald, paunchy man in a business suit? Ruby surges back into her and sneers. _He’s an angel, you moron._

“I am not responsible for the actions of one rogue peon,” the angel spits in a very human and extremely annoyed voice.

“This is not about your poor management skills, Zachariah,” Azazel says. “You, and I mean this literally, have fate on your side and she’s been fucked over.”

“The Michael Sword should be breaking in hell,” Lilith snaps, lunging toward the angel. Ava sees the distant outline of various heads turning towards the demon the way you still see the sun after staring at it and closing your eyes.

“Instead he and the vessel are lost! Again!” Azazel piles on.  

“They’re warded,” Zachariah mutters petulantly.

 _But they’d still go home to Sioux Falls_. Ava is surprised to hear her own voice in her head and feels Ruby’s curiosity in reply. _Meg was in their friend too. We know exactly where to find them._ She thinks, trying to make it louder.

“We can find them easily enough,” Ruby says aloud, speaking with Ava’s voice for the first time and giving a knowing nod to Meg, who has taken a petite brunette with a round face as her meatsuit. Ava wonders idly if there’s someone trapped in there too.

“That doesn’t get us a _soul_ ,” Azazel snaps and Ruby cowers.

“Yes, but it does get you a starting point.”

Everyone turns at the sound the British drawl from the shadows.

“Crowley,” Meg practically growls.

“Whore,” the demon – Crowley – replies with a self-satisfied smile and a nod.

“How the hell did the salesman find us?” Azazel asks with a sneer to the other demon who slips into the light oozing smoke red as blood in water.

“Well, perhaps if you hadn’t picked the most cliché location on the planet for the secret meeting between heaven and hell, it wouldn’t have been so easy,” the red demon smirks. “Good to see you out and about, love,” he adds with a deferential nod to Lilith. “You too, Zach. It’s been an age.”

“What do you want, Crowley?” the angel asks, simmering in annoyance.

“I want a lot of things.” Crowley shrugs his shoulder in his impeccably tailored suit. “But at the moment, I’d like to be of assistance.”

“How can you possibly help?” Meg demands.

“When you have a leak you call a plumber; when you need a soul, you call the King of the Crossroads,” Crowley answers with effortless ease and Meg scoffs. Lilith however looks interested, and Ava can feel Ruby’s grudging curiosity as well.

“You think you can get us Dean’s soul?” It’s Ruby who asks and it’s still strange to Ava to hear her own voice speaking words she doesn’t chose. “How?”

“Getting souls is simple,” Crowley replies, sizing Ava, or Ruby as it were, up. “You either promise them something they want, or take something they love and offer to give it back. I think the latter will be most effective with the elder Winchester.”

“You’re talking about killing someone?” Meg ask. “Who? The vessel? You want to take the risk that Dean won’t deal? Or mommy dearest?”

“Nothing so bloody,” Crowley says and turns his attention to Zachariah. “I’m suggesting that one of our present company simply brings a lost lamb back into the fold.”

“The angel,” Azazel states with cautious smile.

“You think he’d sell his soul to get him back?” Zachariah asks in incredulous offence.

“I’d bet my life on it,” Crowley replies. “Which, I assume is literal considering this company.”

“No, there has to be another way. We shouldn’t trust him,” Meg argues and Ava is inclined to agree. There’s something about Crowley that makes her sense he’s out for something more than just the triumph of Hell. _Of course he is, he’s a demon. We’re all out for ourselves._

“Oh heavens, never trust anyone,” Crowley agrees with another shrug. “But if you have a better idea, please do share.”

The room is silent as the demons and angel exchange nervous, hostile looks until Lilith finally gives a nod of her stolen blonde head.

“Lovely,” Crowley smiles. “It’s a deal.”

“I’m not kissing you,” Zachariah sneers.

“Tease,” Crowley shoots back. “Now, snatch me that angel and I’ll get you a soul.”

“I’ll need a bit of time,” Zachariah mutters. “Can’t go telling the troops on the ground that we want the apocalypse. Horrible for morale.”

“Get out,” Lilith commands and the angel gives her a glare.

“I look forward to our future endeavors together,” Zachariah says snidely, then dissolves in a flash of brightness and wings.

“You betray us and I’ll gut you myself,” Meg says to Crowley as he glances expectantly around the room.

“I look forward to it,” is his only reply before vanishing.


	16. In My Life

**Thursday, June 13, 2002**

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

1:30 A.M.

 

The stars look different from South Dakota, Castiel thinks. Or maybe it’s not the stars, just how he sees them. Their light is harder to see here, closer to a concentrated population – though not a large one. And the full moon outshines them as well, but light polutions isn’t the issue. He can’t see the individual wavelengths now and he can barely hear them. The diminution of his senses along with his grace should be troubling to say the least. Yet for some reason it doesn’t bother him, and he cannot say why.

“Thought I’d find you out here.”

Castiel startles at the sound of Dean’s voice, jumping to stand from his position on Bobby Singer’s porch steps.

Dean chuckles. “Oh how the tables have turned.”

“I don’t understand,” Castiel grumbles, surveying Dean as he approaches. His skin still looks warm and smooth even in moonlight, and he’s only wearing a single layer, which Castiel does not think Mary would approve of given the coolness of the night.

“I mean I finally got to be the creeper and sneak up on you,” Dean explains with a smile.

“Oh,” is all Castiel can say in reply as Dean moves beside him and sits on the step.

“You feelin’ home sick?” Dean asks perceptively, nodding towards the stars as Castiel settles next to him, their thighs and shoulders touching lightly. He is probably too close, but Dean doesn’t draw away, so neither will he.

“I know I should be, but…” Cas shakes his head. “I should feel frightened that I’ll never go back, but…the only thing that frightens me is that I don’t seem to care about that. Does that make sense?”

“Not really,” Dean replies with a warm laugh and Castiel scowls. Dean nudges him with his shoulder, his voice going softer. “Nah, man, I get it. Fear of change is normal or whatever.”

“You’re very comforting,” Castiel mutters. He’s not sure which makes him feel warmer: Dean’s close proximity or his smile.

“So what’s it like?” Dean looks upward so that the moon makes his green eyes look like jade.

“Heaven?” Dean nods. “It’s complicated and would be very hard to describe in terms that a being of limited perceptions could understand.”

Dean rolls his eyes pointedly and Castiel cannot help but smile. “Try.”

“There’s no one heaven, technically,” Castiel begins. “Each soul generates its own. They’re made up of the favored moments of that person’s life. Though there are…places in between where the angels tend to congregate. We can also borrow individual heavens if need be.”

“Everyone has their own? Like, alone?”

“Some share; soulmates usually.”

“So, it’s like a greatest hits?”

“I guess that is one way to put it."

“Huh.” Dean’s face is contemplative as he examines his hands then the stars again. “I wonder what Dad’s is.”

Castiel senses this is not the sort of question he’s meant to answer or perhaps even acknowledge further than leaning a bit closer to press the length of his arm against Dean. He’s only wearing a tee shirt as well. The touch of skin on skin is both comforting and exhilarating to him and he hopes it's the same for Dean.

“Gets me thinking,” Dean goes on. “Like, what mine might be, you know? First thing I think of is that last Christmas with Dad. He couldn’t find a Santa suit or anything so he wore these dumb red pajamas and galoshes and used shaving cream for a beard to surprise me. Gave me a football and told me I was gonna get my other present in May and it was gonna be real special.” Dean pauses to smile at the memory. “Said I had to promise to take good care of it and be a good big brother and he’d have extra special presents for both of us next year.”

“Do you miss him?” Castiel realizes too late the question might hurt.

Dean sighs and shakes his head. “I do and I don’t. I remember how strong he seemed to me, how brave. But I also remember when he and Mom fought. Don’t know how he’d like me now, seeing how I turned out.”

Castiel squints in confusion. “I can’t imagine why he wouldn’t be incredibly proud of you, Dean.”

“Well I hate football, for one thing,” Dean replies and Castiel suspects there is a meaning there he doesn’t quite understand. Dean rolls his eyes and laughs softly. “He was a marine, Cas, a man’s man. He’d be pretty pissed I like guys.”

“Oh."

“Is that a bad thing? Like, from the, uh, heavenly perspective?” Dean asks, his cheeks going slightly pink.

“Heaven has no opinions on matters of human sexuality or romance.”

“There’s a few churches you might wanna spill that info to.” Castiel watches Dean’s gaze drift to his mouth and then back. He does not remark on it, as he find’s Dean’s mouth…compelling as well.

“So, uh, what about you?” Dean asks, his voice oddly tight and high.

“Do I like…”

Dean chokes on the air and shakes his head. “Wha-what’d your heaven be?”

“If I expire, I don’t think I’d go to heaven,” Castiel answers, still confused. This is enough to get Dean’s interest again.

“Where would you go? Purgatory?” Castiel thinks Dean means it as a joke but it sends ripples of cold through Castiel, all the way into his grace. “Or…not?” Dean adds, obviously worried by Castiel’s expression.

“Purgatory is where the souls of…monsters go,” Castiel explains uneasily.

“Oh, uh, cool, I guess, never thought about that,” Dean murmurs. “Where do angels go?”

“I don’t know.” Even that answer still feels wrong.

“Okay, well, _if_ you had a heaven, what’d it be?” Dean redirects and Cas finds himself smiling again, simply because Dean is there.

“I’m not sure…” Castiel answers honestly. “But I think you’d be there.”

Dean stares at him, lips parted in an expression of wonder, his eyes tender and his pupils wide. “You sure know how to sweet talk, you know that?”

“No, I don’t.” Castiel drifts closer without meaning to, like a comet pulled towards the sun. He stares down at Dean’s lips and thinks back to the gas station, then to the night before and draws closer until he can taste Dean’s breath against his mouth.

A loud bark precedes the intrusion of a cold nose and huge ears between them by only half a second.

“Godamnit, dog!” Dean exclaims, jumping back as the squirming corgi squeezes between them and into Dean’s lap, panting and grinning.

“Oh, there you are,” Mary’s voice comes from the door. Dean groans and turns scarlet. “Sorry, he just _insisted_ on going out.”

“Yeah, sure.” Dean stands and tips the dog off his lap.

“You boys having a nice talk?” Mary asks with a bright smile. In his limited interactions with Dean's Castiel has very much enjoyed her, but at the moment he feels an unfamiliar animosity.

“Yeah,” Dean grumbles. He heads inside and holds the door open, nodding for Cas to follow, which he does without questions. Ringo trots after him. “Not cool, man,” Dean mutters to the dog.

“He can’t understand you,” Sam reminds Dean from the kitchen table where he’s stationed in front of a few dozen books.

“Oh yes he can,” Dean replies. “You might have missed the memo where the dog is magic, but yeah, that’s a thing.”

“Excuse me?” Sam asks, as the animal takes a spot at his feet, looking rather smug for a creature a foot tall.

“I could attempt to communicate with him,” Castiel offers, though the prospect isn’t entirely appealing at the moment.

“You can do that?” Sam looks genuinely impressed.

“Maybe tomorrow,” Mary says. “Everyone needs some rest tonight. Sam you’re okay on the couch?”

“What?” Sam and Dean ask simultaneously.

Mary raises an imperious eyebrow at her sons. “Well, Rufus is in the closet we call a guest room. Are you suggesting we make an angel of the Lord sleep on the couch? Or the floor?”

“So he gets my bed?!” Sam argues.

Castiel is more focused on Dean’s reddening complexion.  “I’ll, uh…I gotta…” Dean gives up on the sentence and exits the room while Mary shakes her head.

“Sam, can you show Cas to the room?” Mary prompts.

“The magic dog can’t do it?” Sam grumbles as he rises. The dog in turn gives a small yip and rushes towards Castiel then nudges him before bounding towards the stairs, only pausing a moment to look back at Castiel. “Son of a bitch,” he hears Sam mutter as he follows the creature up to the second floor.

 

 

A few minutes later Bobby joins the rest of the family, minus Dean, on the first floor, and Mary smiles warmly at the confusion on his face. “Did I just see the mutt playing tour guide?” Mary just shrugs in reply. “Well, I guess stranger things have happened.”

“Rufus settled in?” Mary asks.

“He bitched about the pull-out but he’ll be fine despite his delicate sensibilities. So Ernie headed up the stairs, where’s Bert?”

“Oh, he’s sulking somewhere because I might have interrupted him and Cas,” Mary confesses and Bobby gives her The Look. “They weren’t actually _doing_ anything.”

“Mom, you’re torturing him,” Sam complains.

“Kid’s not wrong,” Bobby agrees. “I know you’re having your fun, but you see how he looks at him.”

Mary feels the beginnings of guilt begin to stir under her skin under the judgment in Bobby’s eyes.

“Which him?” Sam interjects. “Cause that could go either way.”

“Well, I was talkin’ ’bout Dean, but I see it in Cas too,” Bobby answers. “Winchesters must just be easy to love. If they don’t get scared away.”

“Huh?” Sam exclaims, looking between Mary and Bobby. “Did I miss a fight?”

“Sam, go…I don’t know, make sure Cas is settled and isn’t asking the dog awkward questions,” Mary orders. Sam huffs but obeys, leaving Bobby and Mary staring each other down in the kitchen.

“Is this about me knowing about the ring?”

“Well, it ain’t about the weather,” Bobby replies without malice, but Mary still feels it like a gut punch. She looks away from the man she’s quietly built a life around.

“I only found it a few months ago,” Mary mutters. “I didn’t know if it was a surprise or…”

“I’ve had it for five years,” Bobby states, voice soft and lacking his usual rough edge. When Mary looks up he’s standing much closer and his eyes are tender. “But I kept tellin’ myself I wasn’t ready for that again, not after…well, all that happened. And then there’s that thing where you’re scared if you get too close to a person, or a place, that you’ll lose ’em. Or hurt 'em.”

“When have I ever…”

“You don’t need to say it for me to know it’s true,” Bobby says, drawing a thumb across her cheek. “I see it in all three of you. You had a home, a family, and lost it. And then it happened again. I see Dean thinking the same thing. He’d rather be on the road in that dang car than call a place home. And hell, I know you and Dean both think you don't deserve it cause ll of this is your fault.

“Bobby…” Mary catches his rough hand and holds it against her cheek.

“But the way I see it, we’ve got Hell comin’ at us anyway, no matter how you run, and not lettin’ someone in ain’t gonna make it hurt less when things go wrong.”

Mary tries to glare at the man, hoping it will keep back the tears threatening to spill. It half works. “So you’re saying I should maybe let my son and the angel…be whatever it they’re trying to be?”

“Well, that might help me work up the balls to give you that ring when this shitstorm passes,” Bobby replies with a shrug.

“You’re a better man than I deserve, you know that?” Mary pulls Bobby close and gives him a quick kiss.

“Nah, I think it’s the other way around,” he says as he lets her go.

Mary finds Dean in the basement of all places, aimlessly rooting about the cupboards of spell ingredients and boxes of accumulated junk. His face is still a bit red and his frown would be almost funny if Mary wasn’t feeling quite so guilty. “What are you doing down here?”

“I’m, uh…” Dean doesn’t finish, just looks at Mary and sighs.

“Sorry I was an asshole. But in my defense you never bring home dates so I’m making up for lost time.”

“Mom...” Dean whines but lets a smile break through.

“And I’m sorry if…your reluctance to do that before is because of me,” Mary pushes on and now it’s her turn to avoid eye contact. “I know I haven’t set a good example, and I probably let a lot of hunters say stupid things that I should have called them on and…”

“Whoa, whoa, mom!” Dean interjects, grabbing her arm.  “The reason I’ve never, you know, brought someone home isn’t cause of you or Bobby or homophobic jerks, okay?”

Mary gives her son a doubtful look, but he actually doesn’t seem very upset. He actually looks kind of surprised and happy. “So what is the reason?”

“I think…” Dean begins, giving Mary a shy half-smile. “I think something was just missing, you know? Like, I met people, I hooked up we…did things I don’t ever need to tell my mom about but, nothing ever clicked. No one looked at me and…saw me.”

“Until him?” Mary asks, a warmth spreading in her chest. Dean looks away to hide his blush. “He was what was missing.”

“I know it’s weird,” Dean mutters. “And I know this is fast but…”

“Dean, you’re talking about an actual angel,” Mary retorts. “There’s nothing that isn’t going to be weird about this. But I’m glad you found someone that makes you feel that way. I really am.” It’s true. She’d spent so long focusing on protecting her boys she’d never really thought much about who or what they could find outside the family. It had always been some distant ‘another day,’ that never seemed to get closer. And now somehow it was here.

“You’re really okay with…whatever me and Cas are?”

“Well, I do think he’s a little old for you,” Mary replies without missing a beat and Dean rolls his eyes. “But yeah, I’m fine. I’m great. As long as it makes you happy…” Mary pauses, suddenly talking to herself just as much as her son. “There’s never as much time as we want with someone. It’s a waste not to spend as much of it as you can loving them.”

Dean doesn’t say anything, just pulls Mary into a hug, again reminding her that she raised a pair of giants, but also two good men.

“Thanks, Mom,” Dean tells her.

“Why do you think I kicked Sam out of your room anyway?” Mary can’t contain her laughter when Dean groans in embarrassment.

 

∞

 

The door creaks way too loudly when Dean enters the room and it doesn’t give him any chance at all to prepare for Cas looking up at him. Dean has known Cas a while, or maybe not long at all, or maybe forever, he’s never quite sure. The point is, timelines aside, Dean knows the guy. He knows the way he stands and his face (and it is _his_ face, not some stranger’s) and his voice and the way he always looks like he’s about to figure out who committed a murder and kick their ass for it. Dean knows Cas’s frown and furrowed brow and perplexed eyes and determined jaw. And because he knows all that, he knows how rare, how precious, how much of a fucking _miracle_ it is when Cas smiles at him.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas intones and Dean’s doesn’t even bother with chastising himself for being a moron.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean grins. “You, uh, like the room?”

Cas gives the room a cursory glance and nods. “I like that it’s yours,” he says, his face still warm and relaxed.

“Thanks, I think. Anything you don’t like is Sam’s.”

“Noted,” Cas says and Dean sorta loves the seriousness of his tone.

Oh.

“My mom apologized, for interrupting,” Dean blurts out, his mouth going a bit dry as he stares at the angel standing awkwardly in his room. Cas reverts to the default look of confusion and Dean takes a deep, albeit shaky breath for courage. “She did interrupt something, right?”

“I was entertaining the hope you’d kiss me again, if that’s what you mean,” Cas replies as easy as anything and Dean feels a bit like gravity just stopped working.

“Oh, uh, yeah, that’s was…yeah…” Dean stammers because everything he knows about flirting or even speaking goes out the window when Cas is nearby. And Cas is very nearby. He steps closer to Dean, his blue eyes intent and hungry, or at least Dean would like to think they are. “Would you…I mean, I don’t want to…I mean, I do want to! But, feelings and…” Cas is an inch from Dean now. If Dean breathes too deep their chests will touch, so he of course does just that. And Cas is staring at his mouth now too. “Aw, screw it.”

Dean kisses Cas like it’s the only thing in the world that matters. Because right now it sort of is. It’s different than the gas station because this time Cas isn’t shocked. Instead he’s entirely on board and it’s _awesome_. Cas’s mouth is hot and his lips are plush and soft and his hands are gentle but inquisitive against Dean’s chest and cheeks and Dean is completely lost in it already. Though not so much that he doesn’t notice the brightness of his bedside lamp increasing steadily until the bulb bursts with a surprisingly loud pop. Dean laughs softly as he pulls back, staring at Cas’s reddened mouth.

“Sorry,” Cas mutters.

“Don’t worry, it happens to everyone I hear.” Cas squints and Dean is definitely, stupidly, completely in love with an angel.

“Please continue,” Cas prompts, not allowing Dean to lose himself in the moment. He apparently doesn’t move fast enough because now it’s Cas that kisses him, tugging Dean close by his shirt with insistence that makes Dean smile against Cas’s lips.

“You like this then?” Dean asks between kisses, because maybe he’s a bit delirious.

“Yes,” Cas replies, all seriousness, as his hand slides up Dean’s side, curious and tender as his mouth is when he kisses Dean again. Dean falters a bit when Cas presses himself totally against Dean and threatens to discover and exacerbate the situation developing in Dean’s pants. He stumbles back, his hands still on Cas but keeping their hips apart. Cas doesn’t seem to be okay with this and pulls himself right back against Dean.

“Uh, better or worse than french fries?” Dean asks, breaking away with a strangled laugh.

Cas fixes him with a look that Dean is pretty sure could kill most small mammals and Dean gets just a bit more turned on. “Why do you keep talking?”

Dean swallows, licking moisture from his lips that Cas put there and tries to form words. “I, uh, I’m afraid of going too fast,” Dean confesses finally and Cas looks at him like he just spoke Latin. Or whatever language Cas doesn’t speak. Maybe squirrel. “I mean, and it fucking kills me to say this because…man, do I want to go rocket speed but, uh…”

“Are you referring to sex?”

Dean can’t help but smile at his bluntness. “Yeah, Cas. I think maybe, tonight what with the newness and the apocalypse and whatever, we, uh, keep it above the belt.”

“We’re not wearing belts.”

Dean rolls his eyes before yanking Cas back towards him and kissing him again.

 

∞

 

Sam shifts on the couch, trying to adjust himself so that a spring isn’t poking him in the spine or so that he can maybe unbend his legs. It’s not working. He sits up, pushing a hand through his long hair and sighing. At least the damn lights have stopped randomly turning on. Maybe that means Dean and Cas are asleep and he could sneak into their room – his room. No. The prospect of seeing his brother doing…anything is worse than the promise of an uncomfortable night on the couch.  He glances over to where Ringo is passed out on the kitchen floor and feels a pang of jealousy for the dog, or _not_ dog, possibly.

“At least someone’s comfortable,” he mutters. “Well, I’ll sleep eventually.”

“You are asleep.”

Sam jumps at the sound of the voice from beside him, spinning in horror to look down at Ava’s placid face where she sits on the couch.

“What…no…” Sam stammers, trying to focus and snap out of it.

“Would you rather I was real?” Ava asks, her tone unimpressed and bored. “Would that help out the whole kicked puppy guilt thing you’re working on?”

“I don’t understand. Are you…”

“I told you, you’re dreaming but yeah, I’m not part of the dream,” Ava explains with a shrug and for the first time Sam notices the dark stains of blood on her chest. Can you throw up in a dream? “Just popped by to say hi. Thanks for killing me.”

“You murdered people,” Sam protests. “You wanted me to –”

“Yeah, yeah, apocalypse, blah blah blah,” Ava replies, rolling her eyes. “I’m over it. A few slugs to the chest really helps sort out your priorities.”

“Are you a ghost?” Sam asks, even though he should know. He’s never heard of a ghosts showing up in dreams, but then again the angel Dean talked to in his dreams for years is sleeping upstairs so who knows what’s possible these days.

“Eh, I prefer restless spirit,” Ava says. “I just wanted to warn you.”

“Warn me?” Sam scoffs.

“About Lilith. Biggest of the big bads? First demon? She’s coming for you, Sam. Everyone you love too, but mostly you.”

“Why me?” Sam asks, somehow not surprised at all that hell still wants him. “So I can start the apocalypse?”

“Mostly because she knows you’re the only one that can stop it.”

“What?” Sam demands and Ava smiles at his interest. “How?”

“Well –”

Furious barking cuts off Ava’s reply and Sam jolts awake. He struggles to breathe due to the pressure on his chest that takes a moment to identify. The paws and the wet nose in his face give away the identity pretty quickly though. Ringo pants in pride as Sam tries to focus on him, refusing to move off of Sam’s chest.

“Protecting me from dream demons too?” Sam asks and the dog gives an affirmative butt wiggle. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Everything alright?” Dean’s rough, sleepy voice asks from the foot of the stairs and Sam looks up to see his brother standing in boxers and tee, taking in the scene.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Sam lies. “Super Dog here just woke me up from a bad dream.”

“Oh, good,” Dean says with a nod and turns back up the stairs. “Just checkin’.”

“Go back to debauching your angel,” Sam calls and Dean flips him the bird as he ascends the stairs.

 

 

Castiel props himself up on his elbow in Dean’s bed as the hunter re-enters the room. He enjoys the way Dean’s silhouette moves in the dark, only moonlight illuminating him. Cas can still see the way his face softens and warms when he sees that Cas is awake and he enjoys that too.

“False alarm,” Dean says. He climbs back into the bed wedged in the corner and gifts Castiel with his radiant warmth and tentative touch again. “We probably should figure out what’s up with that dog soon though.”

Castiel neither argues nor agrees, just tugs at Dean until he’s laid out against Castiel’s body in the small bed and kisses him again. Dean makes a surprised but pleased noise and Castiel cups his jaw with his hand. One might have though he would have had enough of kissing Dean, having done so for quite a while before they finally slept, but he has the suspicion that such a thing might never happen. He pulls back, savoring how Dean’s mouth chases his and the way he nuzzles their nose together.

“I do like this better than french fries.

Even in the darkness Dean’s smile makes his eyes sparkle. “Wow,” he says, trailing a hand down Castiel’s side. “How about more than burgers?”

“We’ll have to see,” Cas replies. The sound of Dean’s quiet laugh is perhaps one of the most perfect things Castiel has ever heard. He won’t tell Dean that just yet, if only to keep check on his ego. There is so much else to tell him though.

Castiel moves quickly and smoothly to shift them so that Dean is on his back and Castiel is above him. Dean’s eyes go wide at the sudden readjustment then wider as Castiel strips off his shirt, but he doesn’t protest.

“I’d like to feel your touch on more of my skin,” Castiel explains. He pulls Dean up and tugs at his tee. “And touch more of yours as well.”

“Oh. Okay,” Dean says as he complies very quickly.

Castiel doesn’t kiss him again, not right away. Instead he takes his time, trailing fingertips over Dean’s skin, mapping its imperfections and smoothness in the moonlight. Castiel notes how gooseflesh appears on Dean’s arms as he touches him, how his breath catches as Castiel caresses his shoulder and notes the freckles there, how his nipples go taut when Castiel grazes them with his knuckles. When Castiel can bear the separation no longer and finally kisses Dean again. Dean moans and Castiel loves the taste of the vibration in his mouth.

He kisses Dean unhurriedly and methodically, experimenting with which pressure from his lips or flicks of his tongue will speed Dean’s breathing or coax another beautiful sound from him. Castiel hums his own pleasure as Dean’s mouth moves to his throat, nibbling the sensitive skin and sending something like electricity all through Castiel. He’s surprised that he gives his own little groan of pleasure, but Dean takes it as encouragement, sliding his hands down Castiel’s back. Inspired, Castiel moves his own mouth to Dean’s neck, letting his teeth graze the juncture of jaw and throat and he feels Dean shiver beneath him. He goes on, exploring and tasting with mouth and hands, just shy of overwhelmed by the texture and the heady scent of skin and sweat and breath.

 

 

“Jesus, you are picking this up fast,” Dean sighs as Castiel’s hands find Dean’s arms and knead the muscle there before Castiel experimentally darts out his tongue to lick Dean’s nipple. “Oh fuck…” Dean’s whole body is tense, though his hips twitch where they are trapped between Castiel’s thighs.

“Is this alright?” Castiel asks, looking up to meet Dean’s darkened eyes.

“Yeah, just…”

Castiel cuts Dean off with a kiss. He had meant to let him speak but his mouth had become distracting. He enjoys it, both delving deep into Dean’s mouth and the way their entire bodies are pressed together, warm and close. Dean’s hips roll off the bed, pressing his groin to Castiel’s and for the first time Castiel becomes aware of the dual erections developing between them.

“Oh,” Castiel murmurs, breaking away and looking down in curiosity.

“Uh, sorry, I…fuck…” Dean begins babbling. Castiel ignores him in favor of tentatively mimicking Dean’s earlier movement and pressing their hips closer. He earns a spike of pleasure that’s entirely new. “Oh fuck…” Dean moans and Castiel understands the sentiment completely. He moves again, slower but more insistent this time and another wave of sensation washes through him.

“I like this,” he tells Dean, surprised at how the he feels so untethered and caught in Dean’s gravity at the same time.

“I’m getting that,” Dean rasps, kissing Castiel again and adjusting the angle of his hips just enough so that their cocks drags together through their clothes. Castiel lets out a gasp that turns into a groan, catching Dean’s pleased look in the flickering light. “I’m gonna have to buy so many new lightbulbs,” Dean chuckles as the air begins to ring. “Don’t worry, I’ll still lo-”

Castiel draws back, pulse suddenly racing for an entirely new reason.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean…I know that wasn’t above the belt I and I was just…” The overhead light flickers faster and brighter and Castiel sees under the crack at the bottom of the door that the same thing is happening in the hall. “Cas?”

“Dean, I’m not doing that,” he says, turning his perception to the ether. It is too late. “No...”

“Cas what the –” The sound of wings and exploding lights cuts Dean off as Castiel springs from the bed, grabbing his blade and brandishing it at the two angels now standing in the room. “Holy shit!”

“Yes exactly,” Castiel’s brother quips, raising an interested eyebrow as Dean flails to find a weapon and extricate himself from the bed. “Nice to see you’re enjoying your exile.”

“Balthazar,” Castiel greets the one that spoke, focusing on the familiar true form beyond human perception that is contained in the blond, goateed man in a strangely low cut shirt. “How did you find us?”

“Let’s say a little bird told us,” Balthazar says, eyes still on Dean. It takes Castiel a bit longer to recognize his other former compatriot. His vessel is solid, bald, with smooth, deep brown skin and wearing a furious scowl.

“Though we did not expect to find you soiling yourself among these…creatures,” Uriel notes.

“I will die before I let you have him,” Castiel declares.

“How romantic,” Balthazar sighs. “Alas, we aren’t here for him.”

“No, you can’t!” Dean protests, grabbing for Castiel, but the other angels are faster, blinking to Castiel’s side and seizing him.

“Time to go home, brother,” Uriel says before dragging Castiel away from the earth. And from Dean.


	17. Helter Skelter

“Wake up!”

Mary has her gun drawn from under the pillow before she even realizes it’s Dean pounding at their door. “What the…”

“Mom! Bobby! Come on!”

Bobby’s at the door before Mary is, unlocking it as she drops her aim but keeps the gun in hand. Ringo is barking like a maniac around Dean’s knees.

“What is the hell is going on?” Bobby demands, looking Dean up and down and raising both eyebrows at his outfit, or lack thereof.

“Dean, if you nearly gave me a heart attack to ask for condoms…” Mary starts.

“They took Cas!”

Mary’s up in a heartbeat, dropping her gun on the bedside table and rushing to Dean. She hears Sam thundering up the stairs before she sees him. “Okay. Calm down. First, who are ‘they’?”

“Other angels!” Dean answers, eyes wide in distress. “He knew them and they - they said they were taking him home.”

“What’s happening?” Sam asks as he reaches them, just as Rufus emerges from the storeroom-cum-guest suite, rubbing his eyes.

“Cas got snatched,” Bobby clarifies and Mary lays her hands on her very agitated son to soothe him.

“Why would the angels want him?” Mary asks.

“Because they’re pissed? Maybe cause we let out a bunch of demons and they want us to end the world? I don’t know!” Dean shouts.

“Hey, calm down,” Sam entreats and Dean sends him a glare. “They’re angels. They’re not going to kill one of their own. Right?”

“I’m not worried about them killing him, Sam,” Dean says, teeth gritted. Mary goes a little cold at the threat implied in his voice. “We need to figure out a way to summon him back, right now.”

 

**Heaven, most likely**

 

The cell Castiel has found himself in is sadly unimpressive; small, dusty and dim. He wonders if this is some human’s heaven, though he can’t imagine why dull brown walls or iron bars would be anyone’s best memory. Perhaps it’s one of the in-betweens, created long before heaven was filled with multitudes. He can’t see the celestial architecture behind it, as his view beyond the shell of what a mortal mind would see is clouded and weak. Perhaps it’s due to his fading grace or simply the fact he has taken a vessel. The same may be true of how he remains in the form of Jimmy Novak, wearing the same pair of jeans (and nothing else) that he had worn on Earth. Everything around him seems more solid and real than Heaven has ever been for him but at the same time it is deafeningly silent. No prayers, no whispers of angels. Nothing.

He can tell he is not the first angel to have been here, judging by the Enochian scratched into the crumbling, dusty walls. It’s a name.

“Abner?” Castiel says out loud and the sound of his own voice is surprisingly loud in the empty silence.

“He was here for many years,” another voice, tired and sad, replies through the wall.

“Who’s there?” Castiel asks the emptiness that he can see from the small chamber. “Balthazar? Uriel?”

“No one so exalted,” the other replies. “Just another prisoner like you.”

“How long before the others are back?”

“They may not return for a while,” the other angel – whose voice Castiel cannot recognize – replies. “Be glad of it, brother. When they come for you here, it is never good.”

“You’re referring to torture?”

“Pray your friends come, rather than Thaddeus,” the other voice half answers, echoing with weary pain. “He’s the best with a blade and the worst of them. Except for Naomi."

Castiel wonders if this is why he remains in such a form: easier to cut and slice and rend. The idea that such horrors occur in Heaven disturbs him far more than the prospect of experiencing them. “I can endure pain.”

“As we all can,” the other replies wistfully. “It’s the time that will break you.”

Castiel feels cold at that thought. He already cannot tell how long he has been here, having been forced into unconsciousness by the journey. The prospect of this prison being his only future is devastating. Years or decades locked away. Lifetimes even. Freedom only coming when Dean is just a memory. “How long have you been here?”

“Since the Fall,” comes the answers, resigned and regretful. Castiel feels what little grace he still can call his shudder and recoil. Only one angel has been imprisoned so long.

“Gadreel?”

“I am always surprised that anyone still remembers,” the other angel answers, a sad hint of humor in his breath.

“All of heaven knows your crime,” Castiel counters. “You let Lucifer into the garden, let him take and corrupt Lilith. You…” Castiel stops himself. There’s no point in rage now.

“I was tricked,” Gadreel says, the words sounding worn and familiar.

“By Lucifer.”

“By Michael.”

Castiel feels many things at those words, but not shock. He already knew, or at least suspected, that heaven was on the side of the apocalypse with no regard for the humans that should have been their charge. They care only for the war, the battle, and the final paradise. The idea that it was Michael who allowed the first corruption, who enabled his brother to commit the crime that began the entire mess. It makes perfect sense.

“It’s alright if you don’t believe me,” Gadreel goes on as Castiel remains silent. “Few do. And even when they do, they have it scrubbed from them eventually. They have tried to tear that knowledge from me as well, for millennia.”

“They?”

“Michael and Naomi. Zachariah and Raphael as well,” Gadreel says. “They have carved and drilled and burned at everything I am, twisted every fiber of my essence and grace. But they have never been able to take that truth from me. I hope they do not take it from you this time.”

“This time?”

“You think this is the first time you have been here, Castiel?”

Castiel cannot fathom the words, but again, he knows them to be true. The holes in his memory, the dreams that seethe with blackness and thousands of vicious, sharp teeth. Anna’s warnings. It makes sense. But none of it is as awful as the thought he could be forced to forget Dean Winchester. This, even more than the prospect of millennia alone, terrifies him.

“Oh, don’t look so gloomy, Castiel,” a jovial voice chides and Castiel looks up to see Balthazar waiting beyond the prison bars. “Oh wait, you always look gloomy. Except of course when you’re _in flagrante_ with a mud monkey.”

“Leave him out of this,” Castiel says, hands retracting into fists. He listens again, hoping to hear or sense anything of Dean on Earth but nothing comes.

“Oh, don’t worry, your precious…whatever he is to you is safe. For now,” Balthazar replies, sending a sidelong look to a point beside Castiel’s cell, he assumes it’s Gadreel. “The bosses are only interested in you at the moment.”

“Do you know what they’re going to do to me?” Castiel asks as Balthazar opens the cell and reaches for him.

“No more than you deserve.” It’s Uriel that replies, coming into view as Castiel is pulled from the cell. He approaches Castiel with shining silver cuffs in his hand, which he latches around Castiel’s wrists with clear relish.

“For what crime?” Castiel sees Balthazar wince. He knows he has no chance with Uriel, but his other old friend had always been more sympathetic to Anna and others than Castiel had ever been.

“Disobedience,” Uriel answers, pronouncing the word like a blasphemy.

“And have you never considered why they insist on such devotion?" Castiel asks, eyes darting between Balthazar and the now visible cell where Gadreel sulks, a broken, hollow-faced husk of an angel. “Have you never once asked where the orders come from, what their final goal is?”

“Are you trying to make him angrier?” Balthazar says with a empty laugh.

“I’m trying to win you over,” Castiel replies.

“To the side of rebellion?” Balthazar asks, the mirth gone from his eyes.

“To the side of freedom.” Castiel is surprised by his own words, though they seem familiar.

“Get moving,” Uriel orders.

They usher Castiel away from the cells and into a long, sterile corridor. This he recognizes as part of the infinite in-between, a strand in a web of connection spanning all of heaven. It used to amaze him, when he could step back and gaze at its scope and intricacy all at once. Now it seems nothing but cold and bland, barely worthy of note compared to the vast beauty of an American highway or the light in one human’s face.

The room he is led to is the same flavor of featureless white and metallic gray nothing. The only objects of interest is a chair that reminds him of the one at the dentist Dean went to when he was seven and was so frightened that of he’d begged Castiel to stay near him the whole time. Castiel understands the feeling now.

“Hello, Castiel,” a smooth female voice says. Castiel is turned to face an angel he does not know next to one he would be happy to never see again.

“Hello, Zachariah. And you must be Naomi,” Castiel says. He notes her presentation as a well-coifed woman in a plain grey suit next to Zachariah’s bald, portly corporate heel. He can barely make out their true forms beyond that, only shadows of animal heads and rows of wings.

“I wish we could stop meeting this way,” Naomi replies. “But alas.”

“We’re going to get to the bottom of what’s gone wrong with you, Castiel,” Zachariah says, leering with pleasure at the thought. “And there are no other traitors here to protect you this time.”

“Anna was right,” Castiel chooses to look at Balthazar as he and Uriel haul him to the chair and begin to strap him down. “Gadreel was right. What you call order is wrong. And it’s not what Our Father would have wanted.”

Zachariah fixes him with a look of utter contempt and sneers. “Good thing he’s not watching.”

“Shall we begin?” Naomi asks with an easy calm and picks up a tool, something like a drill but smaller, sharper and brighter. Castiel finally begins to struggle at the sight of the thing, shining and silver and dripping with rotten grace. Naomi’s eyes are cold as she focuses on Castiel and the drill begins to whir. “Hold him down.”

 

**Sioux Falls**

 

“He sleep yet?” Bobby asks as he comes to stand by Mary’s shoulder where she watches Dean from the kitchen. It’s been twelve hours and nothing.

“Of course not,” she answers. “I’m just happy I got him to put on pants.”

“He having any luck?”

“Nothing.”

“You know I can hear you, right?” Dean snaps, not looking up from the book in front of him. 

Bobby heaves a sigh and eases past Mary to deposit a fresh mug of coffee on the desk. At her ankle Ringo whines and tries for her attention with one stubby paw in the air.

“And you tried praying?” Mary asks and Dean sends her a withering look. “I was just asking.”

“I think if there was a way of summoning an angel, it’d have been done before, don’t you think?” Bobby ventures.

Dean slams the book closed. “Then we’ll make one up!” Dean shouts, his face dark and determined. Neither Mary nor Bobby have much to say, and Rufus and Sam are hidden away upstairs, hoping to have luck there.

Ringo nudges at Mary’s calf with his head again and she finally gives in.  “Are you trying to help or do you want a treat?” The dog gives her a surprisingly earnest look. God help her but it seems like he nods. “You want to help?” Ringo gives a yip and trots away from Mary towards a bookcase.

“Are you getting research help…from the dog?” Bobby asks in horror.

“Well, everything else is a dead end,” Mary mutters and comes to stand by where Ringo has risen on his hind legs and is trying to scratch at a book just out of reach of his paws. “This one?” Mary asks, feeling a bit ridiculous. Ringo gives another yip and Mary pulls out the crumbling tome, one she vaguely recognizes but has never read because it’s almost entirely in Latin. “ _Lexion Obscura_? You read Latin? Really?” Ringo growls in offence and Mary sets the book in front of him because why the hell not.

“Mom, can we take this seriously?” Dean says.

Mary doesn’t answer, too intrigued by how the dog is nosing through the pages of the tome. Ringo comes to a page late in the book showing an intricate sigil and Mary squints to read it, then smiles. “Now my Latin isn’t as good as Bobby’s, but I do know what Enochian looks like I think that’s a summoning,” Mary says, amazed and just a bit scared.

“Holy crap,” Dean breathes, looking between Mary, the dog, and the book.

“Let’s get translating then,” Bobby commands.

 

**Heaven**

 

What Castiel is feeling is not pain. It is beyond that; lonelier and colder and deafening. He feels like he is being torn apart from the inside out and even though his body and voice are little more than illusions here, his whole self aches from the screaming.

“This will go faster if you don’t struggle,” Naomi’s voice reminds him from far away for the first time, or the hundredth. He recognizes her now, deep in the core of him. He recognizes her with blood of the first born on her hands and contempt in her eyes for the whole garrison led before her.

“So you do remember.”

Of course he remembers, how could he forget the slaughter? How could he ever forget the feeling of a child’s skin beneath his hand and its mother’s cry and his simple declaration that no, this was not God’s will, this was not the Father he knew.

“Obstinate for so long,” Naomi sighs and for a second Castiel can see her again, adjusting her drill while Balthazar relaxes his grip, eyes dark with horror. “Let’s move more to something more recent shall we. The Michael Sword.”

 _Cas, can you hear me?_ For one blissful second, Dean’s voice blots out the horror and pain. _Cas, I need you down here, stat. Things…aren’t good._ He cannot tell if it is a real prayer or a memory. He knows, somewhere that he has never heard these words before, but how can he hear Dean in this place? _Cas, I know you’re pissed. Hell, I’m pissed…but we’ll get through it okay? I just need you to be you again. I need you to stop this and come home and…_

“I don’t care about his begging,” Naomi says. Something sharp and terrible shifts in Castiel and he sees a house in Kansas and a tear in time. “Yes. That night. The first time. Why were you there? Why did you go to him?”

The screams he hears now are not his, they are too numerous and agonized and inhuman. They echo over the cacophony of Hell, through the prisons of fire and bone and flesh and hate. Castiel can see the chains and racks and blades, the demons with blood soaked grins carving away at withered souls that scream for mercy. The demons howl when they see Castiel, fall back from the dazzling force of his grace and purpose. He does not bother with disposing of them, there are others meant for that. For him there is only one soul that matters.

“What is this?” Naomi demands and Hell is gone, replaced by cool night air and the silence of the Kansas prairie. Castiel does not know why he is there, why he is watching a demon stand by a crib. That is not what matters. As always, there is only one soul that matters. He has to wake up Dean and get him to Sam. That’s all he has to do. It’s the only way to save her. Save him. To change things. _Dean._

“Change things? Change what?”

Another stab of mind-searing pain and Castiel is in a dream. Or perhaps he is not. He is in a body that was meant for him, though he does not know how. A trench coat hangs heavy on his shoulders in the night. Dean Winchester is calling him and Castiel needs to explain why he saved him, what his purpose is. But the child has no purpose that Castiel knows. He was saved from the demons. But they didn’t want him.

“He’s seeing two different things,” Naomi comments, confusion rising in her tone.

 _Who are you?_ Dean asks in two voices, one innocent and curious, the other rough and suspicious.

_Castiel._

_That’s a funny name. I like your coat. Are you like a salesman?_

Somewhere Castiel smiles. Even then Dean had filled his heart. Even then he had been familiar.

_I’m an angel of the lord._

_I’m gonna call you Cas. And you can be my angel and help take care of me and Sammy, okay?_

“No, I don’t want that story. The other one, Castiel, the _other_ first time.”

 _Who are you?_ Another flash of the far reaches of Hell. Another scream and the exploding light of salvation.

 _Who are you?_ Dean had asked, before and after in that other voice. And Castiel can see it now, see it as Naomi drills deeper and deeper, pain and revelation tearing through Castiel’s essence.

  _Who are you?_

_I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition._

 

**Sioux Falls**

 

“Oh hell,” Rufus groans as he enters the basement and sees what Dean’s preparing. “You know this is a shitty idea, right? As in, one for the record books, hall of fame, bad fucking idea.”

“Yeah, I’ve been told,” Dean mutters, continuing to draw the sigil around the bowl of summoning ingredients. Rufus heads back over to Bobby, who is stationed with Mom inside the iron shell of the half-finished panic room. “That’s why you all stay in there and I’ll wing it out here.”

“Where you’ll get your eyeballs melted out if your boyfriend shows up without his meat suit on,” Rufus snaps.

“Well, at least I’ll see him naked.” Dean hears Sam snicker at that and Rufus rolls his eyes.

“Dean, are you…” his mom starts for the hundredth time.

“Yes, I’m sure, Mom. They’re torturing him up there, I know it. Anna talked about it. They’re gonna make him forget us and I can’t…I just gotta get him back, okay?”

“With a spell _the dog_ found,” Bobby argues.

“The _magic_ dog,” Dean corrects though it doesn’t really help his confidence. Ringo is sticking to him and Dean’s not sending the animal away for anything right now. “Now, get in there so I can do this.”

His mother gives him one more worried look before pulling the door closed. The bang rings through the basement with deafening finality and Dean takes a steadying breath. The cut across his hand for the blood part of the spell isn’t so bad, and the pain steadies him as he begins to read the incantation.

 _“Zod i re do…no co_ ” he recites, lighting a match and dropping it into the silver bowl where the ingredients flare in a small fire. On cue the room begins to shake. That’s comforting. “ _Ab er a ma ge…na zod pe sad.”_ The bowl flashes again. The air fills with the scent of burning and smoke and the shaking increases then…nothing.

“Shit,” Dean groans into the silence.

“Oh, don’t look so disappointed,” a voice drawls from the dark reaches of the basement and Dean grabs the Colt (which Mom insisted he keep) with his uninjured hand. “Oh, you don’t need that, darling. I’m here to answer your prayers.” Dean recognizes the demon that emerges from the shadows, even without the red eyes.

“You’re the one that saved us in Wyoming.”

“The same.”

“I summoned an angel, not a two bit crossroad demon.”

“I’ll have you know I am the  _premiere_ crossroad demon. The name is Crowley.”

Dean looks the demon over. There’s nothing really intimidating about him except for the look in his eye that says he knows secrets that haven’t even been invented yet. “Still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here.”

“I caught the summoning and thought you’d at least want to talk to someone, seeing as Heaven has closed all channels at the moment. Like I said, I’m here to help,” Crowley says, approaching Dean slowly and assessing him with dark, intelligent eyes. “Like I helped you before.”

“Uh huh. Why?”

At that Crowley gives a calculating grin. “Why do we do anything? Survival,” he says, placating and self-assured. “Azazel, Lilith, Luci – let’s say I’m not a fan of their vision for the world.”

“And why’s that?” Dean doesn’t drop his aim.

“Because it probably doesn’t include me in it,” Crowley replies simply and Dean gets the surprising impression he’s being completely honest. “So, do you want to get your angel lover back or what?”

“Dean! What’s going on out there?” Mom calls from beyond the heavy door of the panic room, which starts creaking open.

“Let’s go somewhere more private,” Crowley says and with a snap of his fingers they’re in a decaying…factory or something. There’s a metal staircase against a wall and rows of high windows with panes broken. Crowley stands next to a wall lined in chipped tiles and stained with something that looks suspiciously like blood. “Ah, memories,” Crowley remarks, oddly.

“So, you can get Cas out?” Dean asks, trying to keep focus and not panic that he was just kidnapped by a demon and that’s the least insane part of his day. At least he still has the Colt, though it doesn’t seem to spook Crowley at all.

“Well, not me personally, but I can arrange for it to happen for just a small cost on your end.”

Dean feels a cool terror begin to buzz in his stomach. “A deal.”

“Your soul in exchange for a way into heaven, plus the power to get Cas back,” Crowley says like he’s quoting the price of a used car.

Dean gulps, trying to weigh the options and coming face to face with consequences too big to even comprehend. He’s willing to bleed for Cas, of course, but his _soul_?

“Oh, don’t worry that pretty head of yours, darling, I won’t keep it.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Means everything will work out in the end, I assure you.”

Dean knows that has to be a lie, but it’s something to cling to. “Cas wouldn’t want me to…”

“Cas won’t be Cas for much longer if you don’t make this deal,” Crowley snaps. “Believe me. I know Naomi. I’ve seen what she’s capable of and it makes me and mine look like amateurs.” Dean swallows again, trying and failing not to imagine what Cas is going through at the moment. “She will grind and cut and burn away everything he is, everything that you care so deeply about, until he’s nothing but another mindless toaster.”

Dean looks away from the demon, trying not to be sick. “Would I still have to go to Hell?”

“Oh, probably,” Crowley replies with a shrug. “But think of it this way: what’s one little soul compared to everything an angel is; everything _Cas_ is and can be and do?”

“Doesn’t even compare,” Dean says softly.

“And if anyone has a chance of saving, well, everyone…”

“That’s not what this is about,” Dean stops him. “This is about making sure someone who deserves to be free stays that way.”

Crowley smiles slowly, because that’s it. He knows he’s won, and Dean hates it but this is the only way.

“So when do you get my soul?” Dean asks, defiant and resolved.

“When I need it. And like I said, you’ll get it back.”

Dean glares down at the demon, annoyed that something so small can have so much power and so clearly know it. “How do I know this isn’t a trick?”

“You don’t. But that doesn’t matter to you, so stop stalling,” Crowley says, retaining his smug smile.

“Fine,” Dean snaps back. “My soul for Cas. How do we do this? Do I sign in blood or something?”

“Nothing so painful. Just a quick kiss.”

“A kiss? Great,” Dean grumbles.

“I even promise no tongue,” the demon says with a grin, obviously enjoying this.

Dean considers for one more moment, weighing the vague idea of Hell - _actual, real Hell_ – against the void left where Cas should be. There’s no contest. “Alright, pucker up, asshole.”

Crowley smirks before pulling Dean down into a kiss that tastes like sulfur and blood. The world around them spins and Dean pulls away, dizzy but not surprised to find himself back in the basement, the Colt clattering to the floor beside him.

“What the fuck?” It’s Mom that asks first, staring at the demon in horror as Bobby, Sam and Rufus all rush out of the panic room towards Dean.

“So now what?” Dean demands, ignoring them. “You show us the stairway to heaven or something?”

“No, I introduce you to someone who can,” Crowley replies and turns his attention to where Sam is holding Ringo back from a complete, growling meltdown.

“Dean, why is there a demon here!?” Sam grunts and the dog tries to wriggle free.

“Don’t worry, Shaggy, Scrappy is going to take good care of you,” Crowley says and snaps his fingers. Ringo yelps as some invisible force yanks him away from Sam and he starts…glowing?

“What the hell?” Dean exclaims, looking between the blindingly bright light emanating from the floating dog and Crowley.

“Tell him he owes me a favor when this is over,” Crowley says. He vanishes as the entire room fills with golden light. Ringo’s barks dissolve into a high pitched ringing that crescendos into sudden silence.

“Well, that took long enough.”

The hunters blink, staring in confusion at the man in the center of the basement, dressed in plain jeans and a canvass jacket, where Ringo had been. He’s short, with light hair and there’s something very _very_ familiar about his eyes.

“Holy crap…Ringo?” Sam asks at the same moment Dean figures it out.

“Actually, my name is Gabriel.”


	18. Take These Broken Wings

**Heaven**

 

Castiel’s vision and mind swim with black. Not darkness. Black. Oozing, fetid, toxic, _ancient_ black that fills him up and burns him from within with hate and rage and guilt.

 _Cas, we can fix this._ He’s never heard desperation like that in Dean’s voice, but it’s so familiar. But there are so many voices so much louder. Sam is praying to him, against all odds, after all he’s done. Death regards him with derision. The voices of humanity shriek and thousands of monsters laugh and protest. There is blood and bursting and burning and fire and Dean. Dean who stopped praying to him, but whose voice he can hear even in the black. He can hear prayers even when there is nothing of him left.

“You need to stop!”

Balthazar. That voice he knows too. He remembers his name, _Cas_ , in his mouth and the stab of a blade and…

“Keep him in place or you will be next,” Naomi orders.

“I killed you.” Castiel’s voice is thick with blood and agony, but for a moment he sees reality, not the impressions beneath it and on his grace. Balthazar stares down at him in horror and confusion. “You worked against me. I had to.”

“Against you? With who?”

 “What is going on?” Zachariah demands. No. That’s wrong. He shouldn’t be here.

“He’s mad,” Uriel growls, pushing Castiel back down as he struggles. That’s wrong too.

“No. No, you’re not real. You’re dead. Anna killed you.” He remembers it. He remembers the brightness and blaze of the first time he had seen another angel take a brother’s life. And Zachariah. He sees Dean laughing. Not his Dean though. Someone older and with such weary pain just behind his eyes. A soul barely shining but still his. _I told that fucker I’d stab him in the face. He should have listened._

“What is he seeing?” Zachariah’s voice cries.

“Dean killed you,” he says against his will as Naomi’s tool bores deeper, through bone and grace and self.

“I don’t understand,” Naomi says. Castiel sees flashes of her face in a dozen different empty places in his memory. “This is far worse than we suspected.”

Another stab and another flash to another time, ahead yet long ago. He sees Dean staring, devastated, at Samuel Campbell’s body and Mary Winchester weeping in her fiancé’s arms. Dean’s face when he looks at Castiel breaks a heart he did not know he had. At the same time he sees a different vision: a story, a memory where he and Dean are gone and Samuel lives, a change made by a ripple in time. The dissonance of it is like metal screeching against itself and Castiel thrashes and screams as two truths slice into each other.

“You changed the past when you interfered with the Winchesters,” Naomi states, cutting through the agony and refocusing him. “Because you prevented something that was meant to happen in the future…”

“And how exactly did Heaven miss that?” Balthazar asks, surly and sour. His hands holding Castiel down are much gentler than Uriel’s and that is a small relief.

“It was just one life, maybe two, that were saved….” Naomi whispers.

“I’m sure it was insignificant,” Zachariah says.

Castiel wishes he was free just so he could kick the other angel in the shins. “No human life is insignificant,” he murmurs instead, the words coming out slurred and sick.

“You’re not here for platitudes, Castiel,” Naomi says viciously and starts in again.

Castiel screams as a lifetime of contrary information assaults his perception all at once.

“Please, you’re killing him!” Balthazar pleads and Castiel feels like laughing because he remembers dying and it wasn’t quite as bad as this. He remembers being pulled apart by an archangel on a subatomic level, twice, and still persisting. He’d heard Dean’s prayers or felt them, even then. He hears them now, asking for things Castiel does not remember Dean needing, making jokes and begging and calling on him to stop. Please _stop_. Then there is blackness again that is full of teeth. Before that there are lies and mistakes and his brothers and sisters in Heaven. Some bowing and some…

He doesn’t scream at the memory or vision or whatever it is. The sight it too horrible for that. So many angels dead at his feet and at his hands. He knows the names that belonged to each impression of blackened wings.

“Oh God,” Naomi gasps and stops.

Castiel collapses back, panting as the room gradually swims back into focus. Or perhaps it doesn’t. He’s not sure if he’s really there. He doesn’t belong there. Here? None of them do. Or is this exactly what he had hoped and planned when he…when he what?

Naomi’s face is horrified as it should be. “You killed them. So many of us…”

Castiel cannot answer or speak because he doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to know.

“Give him a chance to recover, _please_ ,” Balthazar entreats. Castiel can vaguely make out Naomi giving him a glare.

“I need some time to sort through things anyway,” she mutters. Zachariah starts to protest but she raises a hand to silence him. “Return him to the cells. And keep watch. He’s more dangerous than we could have ever imagined. There is one more adjustment I need to make first.”

Castiel lets himself be pushed back down, too overcome by confusion and horror and grief to resist. He sees Balthazar’s face fraught with worry and regret but the other angel says nothing. He closes his eyes and tries to listen for Dean’s prayers – real and imagined and remembered – as the drilling begins again, penetrating all the way into the core of his faded grace and deep into his skull. It’s so loud. Louder than even the memory of Dean or Earth or what he was there for. He has no strength to fight against the sound, against the scream of it.

He has nothing.

 

**Sioux Falls**

 

Mary is staring at an angel in her kitchen for the second time in a week and somehow that’s the least strange thing about the situation.

“What the ever loving _fuck_?” Bobby whispers, standing beside Mary and staring at the caramel-haired man that was their pet until a few minutes ago but is now spooning chocolate ice cream out of the carton into his mouth and groaning. He’d said he was hungry and vanished as soon as he introduced himself, leading to the whole family rushing out of the basement in panic.

“Holy crap, I missed opposable thumbs,” the guy who says his name is _Gabriel_ sighs. “Also chocolate. You yo-hos were so stingy with that stuff.”

“It’s bad for dogs!” Sam protests, stationed near Dean, the two of them wearing identical thunderstruck expressions.

“So is getting chomped by a hellhound, but I made it through that!” the angel says through a mouthful of ice cream.

“Can we focus on the part where we’ve had _the angel Gabriel_ as a pet for sixteen years?” Dean interjects and the implications of that begin to click for Mary.

“I let you sleep in the bed!” Mary exclaims then looks at the boys, who have gone even paler. “All of us did and…”

“Come on, did I once hump anyone’s leg?” Gabriel asks, taking another huge bite of ice cream. “I was a perfect gentleman…mostly.”

“Oh my god,” Sam breathes in horror.

“Man, this is a level of weird I was not prepared for,” Rufus adds.

“Guys! Focus!” Dean snaps. “Angel. Pet. Fucking  _how?_ ”

“Technically, I’m an archangel,” Gabriel replies with a smug smile. “And long story short – curse. Do _not_ piss off a goddess of destruction, FYI.”

“A _goddess_ …turned you into…a _corgi_?” Sam says and Gabriel shrugs.

“And you just somehow ended up our pet?” Dean asks doubtfully.

“Oh no, I fully intended to be your pet,” Gabriel replies, a sparkle of something in his eye. “I've taken a keen interest in you lot since Cassie crushed that butterfly back in the day.”

Mary stares harder at the angel – archangel, holy crap – and something that Cas said begins to click and stir in her memory. “Wait, I know you. You fixed our furnace!”

Gabriel gives her a grin and a wink. “A prize for the lady! I also steered you to the safest place and gave you a smidge of extra protection.”

“ _You_ warded us?” Dean asks, figuring it out. “Before you got fur.”

“Had to keep you hidden from my asshole family,” Gabriel confirms, licking his spoon. “And yeah, I am not on their side in this whole apocalypse thing. I’ve never been on their side for much of anything, just in case you were wondering. Been hiding out with the pagans, minding my own business as a Trickster until…well, shit happened, and I figured if sweet little Cassie was getting involved, I should help. Us exiles gotta stick together.”

“You knew about the boys’ destiny? What Heaven and Hell wanted them for?” Mary pushes, sensing that there are chapters, if not entire volumes, missing from this story.

“And I was trying to put an even bigger kibosh on it when the whole man’s best friend thing happened,” Gabriel sighs, setting aside the now empty ice cream carton. “Do you know how hard it is to get from India to California when your legs are four inches long?” The humans in the room just blink and Gabriel rolls his eyes. “Anyhoo. Better now. Thanks by the way, though now I owe Crowley a favor.”

“You know him?” Dean asks and he looks a bit nervous. Mary hadn’t even thought to ask how a demon got mixed up in this and her stomach starts to twist at the thought of how Dean could have arranged for Gabriel to be saved. “He told - he said you’d help us save Cas.”

“Yup, getting the band back together is first order of business.” Gabriel claps his hands together. “Haven’t been back home in a millennium or two, hope they haven’t remodeled.”

“So how is this gonna work?” Dean demands.

“Eh, I’ll figure it out as I go,” Gabriel says with a shrug.

“Oh that’s reassuring,” Rufus scoffs. “One reject angel going after another with the power of pure bullshit. Perfect.”

Gabriel’s face goes from wry amusement to pure wrath in an instant, and Mary swears she hears the distant sound of thunder. “This reject angel is saving your collective asses right now, bucko, so some respect would be appreciated.”

Rufus gulps and Mary takes an uneasy breath. “And we’re grateful. So, let’s get going on saving Cas before my son has an aneurysm.”

“I’m going with you,” Dean declares and Gabriel’s face melts into smug amusement again.

“Sorry, Romeo, ain’t no humans getting upstairs unless they’re dead, so you’ll just have to wait,” Gabriel replies and Dean looks sick and crestfallen. “How about this? Start praying to him, or keep praying. It helps.”

“Yeah, I’ll…yeah,” Dean mutters and Gabriel gives him a thumbs up.

“Okay. Wish me luck. Hope I still have the key to the backdoor,” Gabriel chirps and in a flurry of wind and the sound of unseen wings he’s gone.

“Well, this has been an eventful day,” Bobby grumbles into the empty space Gabriel left. “Anyone got any other angels or whatever stashed?”

“This is good though, right?” Sam says hopefully. “We have an archangel, and if we get Cas back that sort of evens the odds.”

“Against _all_ of Heaven? And Hell?” Rufus asks back.

“Well it’s something,” Sam snaps.

“I certainly hope so,” Mary sighs, striding to her younger son and giving him a grateful squeeze. Dean still looks sick and panicked. She reaches out to him but he recoils.

“I’m gonna…take a walk,” Dean mutters and heads out the back door before Mary can protest.

“I think he did something stupid,” Bobby says, expressing the same worry that Mary feels. “That demon wouldn’t have helped for free.”

“The question is just how stupid…” she murmurs.

 

**Heaven?**

 

The darkness recedes slowly from Castiel as he wakes. He doesn’t know why he wakes though, for he has never slept. His grace feels so weak, perhaps that’s why.

“Can you hear me, Brother?” a voice somewhere near is asking. “Is there anything left of you?”

“Who are you? Where…” Castiel stops himself. It is not his place to question Heaven’s will. He is confined, somewhere bland and dark, but there has to be a reason for it.

“Ah, I see the answer is no,” the voice says sadly. “They usually don’t bring you back. This will be interesting.”

“Usually?” Castiel echoes. He traces the grooves on the cell walls with a fingertip. A name he does not recognize. It’s been worn down to smoothness with years of others doing the same, yet a few specks of stone come away with his touch. Smaller and smoother than sand.

“As I told you, you’ve been through their reeducation many times, Castiel,” the other angel answers.

“Be quiet, traitor.” Castiel knows this voice. Uriel. Why is Uriel here? Why are they not in the garrison? His vision is weak and fades in and out of memories and other planes, but he can see his brother now, beyond the bars of the cell, standing guard next to another angel with worry on all his face. Balthazar.

“You will have to silence me with more than words, Brother,” the other prisoner says. “Just as it will take more than Naomi’s tortures to break our friend.”

Castiel does not reply. Naomi. He does not know that name, but it gives him a chill. He turns back to the wall, bracing himself and touching the dust. There’s something important about the wall. Or perhaps about the dust? It reminds him of something. Not the sight but…the feel.

Why does he feel?

“Do you remember what I told you, Brother? About the knowledge they could not take from me,” the other prisoner goes on.

“Be quiet,” Uriel orders.

“There is the same thing in you, I know, or else you would not be here.” Castiel shudders at the words and stares down at the hands of a vessel he does not remember taking but that is completely his. “Find it, Castiel. Find the one thing they cannot take.”

Castiel closes his eyes – his vessel’s eyes – and _feels_. Dust and sand. Yes. Surf and wind and _salt_. He remembers the taste of it on his lips. Salt and starch and heat and steam. French fries that are not as good as kisses. The touch of lips on his and a face beyond a circle of fire, leaving him…

“What have they done to me?” Castiel gasps, eyes open as he stumbles back, the world rocking apart in his mind.

“If you know something has been done, that’s the first step,” the other prisoner reassures him. “It was always the first thing for me.”

“I told you it wouldn’t work,” Balthazar mutters.

“I’ll retrieve her,” Uriel sighs and leaves.

“I can’t…how could Heaven do this?” Castiel demands, reeling at the flash of a blade and a drill and cold eyes in his memory. “Naomi.”

“Yes,” Gadreel – Castiel _remembers_ – says. “Second only to the archangels, that one. She’s done their dirty work for centuries.”

“Do you want them to take you too?” Balthazar asks, agitated. “Because they will. When they’re done with him –”

“There is nothing they can do to me now,” Gadreel says.

“Brother, please…I can’t make sense of anything, but I know this wrong. Let me out. Help me,” Castiel begs.

“Do you remember the part where you said you killed me? And a mess of other angels apparently.” Balthazar asks and Castiel shakes his head in horror, even as the dream of stabbing his most loyal friend in the back flashes before his eyes. “Unfortunately, I do, and so do they. It’s too late anyway. They’ll be ready for another spa treatment as soon as they know this one has failed.”

“I don’t know what’s going on!” Castiel cries. His head begins to ache and split with pain and confusion.

“Whatever is in him, it’s stronger than her methods,” Gadreel remarks, sad laughter behind his words. “Shouldn’t that tell you all you need to know about the righteousness of his cause?”

“That’s enough from you,” Balthazar snaps but his eyes are sympathetic as they remain focused on Castiel through the heavy bars of the cell. Castiel remembers that expression in too many different ways to make sense. He can see his friend thinking, weighing, deciding, and he already knows the answer. “But he does make a good point.” Balthazar heaves a put-upon sigh and swiftly unlocks the cell door. “I better not regret this…” he mutters, grabbing Castiel’s arms.

“Damnit, now what am I supposed to do?”

Castiel and Balthazar turn to the angel that has entered the prison block and both recoil from the unfamiliar blaze of his true form, visible even to Castiel’s limited senses and shining more brightly that any angel Castiel has seen in an age.

“You can’t be who I think you are,” Balthazar says as Castiel tries to focus on the vessel of the angel…or archangel, judging by the multitude of golden wings Castiel is trying not to see. Finally the face comes into focus and for some reason it makes Castiel remember static and anger and the crushing weight of water.

“Gabriel?” Castiel asks in wonder, because his presence here is just as impossible as Balthazar’s.

“Oh, it’s me,” he grins. “Came to bust you out. Thanks for the assist, Balthy, knew you’d come through.”

 “I doubt it will be very useful seeing as our own little gestapo is on their way to crush us all,” Balthazar says, drawing a blade.

“That’s what I’m here for.” Gabriel’s own blade drops into his hand. He looks Castiel up and down with a raised eyebrow as the walls begin to shake with the approach of Naomi and the others, coming in force. “I like the men’s fitness cover look, really; though the blood is a little distracting.” Castiel looks down at himself, wondering why he’s wearing only jeans. “I do miss the coat though.”

“I left it in the water,” Castiel answer automatically, and he doesn’t know what those words even mean or which part of him they came from. “Or I…why did I…What are you talking about?” Castiel holds a hand to his throbbing head.

“They got to him bad, didn’t they?” Gabriel asks and Balthazar nods. “Well, I got something for that too. Let’s turn up the sound, eh?” Gabriel gives Castiel a vigorous jab to the forehead and the barriers that had been keeping his angel radio silent shatter. He hears a voice he would know anywhere.

_…don’t know how long I have to keep doing this but, crap, Cas; that was the exact wrong time to get angel-napped. Things were just getting good._

Dean.

The enormity of the remembrance hits him like a tidal wave. Castiel falls back against the wall, clutching his head and trying to hold himself together as he is assaulted a hundred echoes and memories of the same voice. _I call on the angel Castiel to get his feathery ass down here. I don’t even know if you can hear me. Cas, it’s bad – it’s Sammy. Cas, I know you’re gone but, damn, I miss you. Cas, you have to hear me. You can’t let them break you or take you or whatever…I need you. I’m praying okay?_

“Oh congrats on a lovely save there, soon he’ll be catatonic and even more useful,” he hears Balthazar mutter from above.

“He’ll work through it.”

Castiel tries to open his eyes, commanding himself to focus on the present, on the one version of that voice that he knows in his soul – or whatever he has that passes for a soul – is real. _Cas, I did a real dumb thing and I need you back here to save my ass when Mom finds out. You’re gonna be pissed too, but I promise I’ll make it up to you with something good._

Castiel’s vision focuses just in time for Balthazar and Gabriel to drag him into a wide, white corridor.

“Gadreel,” he mutters. “We can’t leave him…”

“He’s been in there forever, he’ll be fine,” Gabriel says. “Uh oh.”

“What are you doing?” Naomi cries, emerging with Uriel at her heel and others following. The sight of her makes Castiel recoil and fall but her eyes are wide as she sees Gabriel in all his glory. “Impossible!”

“That’s my middle name,” Gabriel grins. “Long time no see, sis.”

“Another exile. And another traitor,” Uriel growls to Balthazar from behind her. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Your brothers made it very clear what was to happen on your return, unless you came to beg forgiveness,” Naomi says.

“Well, I sure as spit ain’t here for that,” Gabriel replies dangerously.

“Then I have no choice. Kill them both, but keep the defective one alive,” Naomi orders and Castiel’s head spins. He listens again for the steady pull of Dean’s prayer and resists collapsing, holding tight to Balthazar.

“I guess she has more questions for you,” Uriel says with a smirk as he draws his blade and advances.

“Actually I have a question for you, Chuckles,” Gabriel says with a wicked smile, stepping in front of Castiel and Balthazar as Uriel begins charging them. Gabriel’s form dissolves the instant Uriel touches it and the archangel appears behind him at the same moment, his blade sliding into Uriel’s back like a warm knife through butter. “How low can you go?” Uriel grunts, his grace shuddering and expiring as he falls to his knees. Castiel can make out the sight of his wings burning nova-hot on the angelic plane. “Believe me; that will be funny soon.”

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing by helping him?” Naomi demands furiously as Uriel falls dead at her feet, wings burned against the sterile white of the corridor.  “Do you understand what this fool is capable of? What he’s done?”

Castiel falters, clutching at Balthazar. He sees the ash of Uriel’s wings and so many others…

_Cas please._

No. It’s not real. Not yet.

“It’s no worse than what you and the bosses have been doing to us for ages,” Balthazar replies, fiery and fierce. A few of the angels behind Naomi titter and squint in confusion. “You’ve been brainwashing us, controlling us.”

“He ain’t wrong,” Gabriel says.

“Go ahead, sow your deceit and disobedience,” Naomi barks. “Kill your own. It won’t change anything. Do you hear me, Castiel?” Castiel shudders, her voice reminding him of pain and grief and confusion and at the same time compelling him to obey.  “You cannot save them. You are _broken_. I will rip you apart as many times as it takes to fix this. I will fix you if it’s the last thing –”

Balthazar’s blade fits easily into Catiel’s hand, and better into Naomi’s chest. Castiel registers the gasps of shock. He sees Gabriel’s smile, but more importantly he watches Naomi’s face fill with the same pain and fear she instilled in him. He watches her grace collapse and burn within her and even though he cannot find all that she has taken yet, he knows she will not take any more.

It’s strange, Castiel thinks, as he stumbles back. He’s horrified at taking the life of one of his own kind, but it is not unfamiliar. He feels himself falling and tries to listen for Dean over the sound of angels screaming in horror and rage.

“Oh good, he’s dying again. And we just have to make it through…that,” he hears Balthazar say as everything fades.

 

**Sioux Falls**

 

Dean is sick of praying. He’s been at it for an hour at least. He doesn’t know what else to say and Cas sure as hell ain’t answering. He considers praying to someone else, maybe even God, because he has a lot to say apparently and some of it is shit he’s not even sure Cas wants to hear. It’s not like praying will be of any use _because he sold he soul so a demon could free his archangel dog from a curse to save the other angel he’s in love with._

“How is this anyone’s life?” he asks the empty husk of a Ford he’s bent against.

“Dean?”

He looks up hopefully at his mother’s voice. “Anything?”

“From our angel pals? No. But I made some sandwiches.” Her eyes are gentle and sympathetic. “And tomato rice soup.”

“I’m not sick. Or five,” Dean argues weakly, though he and Mom both know he’s going to eat the hell out of that soup.

“Yeah, but you’re stewing in something and not just the fact your boyfriend is in peril,” she replies. Always astute. He follows her through the yard, silent for a while until he can’t take the weight of her worry anymore.

“You wanna know what I gave Crowley?” Dean reaches the back porch and leans against the stair rail. “You’re gonna kick my ass.”

“Oh yeah, I already assumed that. But I’ll love you after. Now spill.”

“After soup?” Dean asks weakly.

Mom rolls her eyes but nods, giving him a brief reprieve.

 _Cas, damnit, get your feathery ass back here and help, right now_ , Dean prays grumpily as he sits at the kitchen table.

“Hey, you found him,” Sam says breathlessly as he jogs to joins them in the kitchen. “Did you get him to –” Sam’s words are cut off by three bodies crashing into the living room out of nowhere and destroying the coffee table in the process. “Holy shit!”

Dean’s eyes go wide in a new type of panic as the middle body slumps to the floor between the other two. “Cas!” Dean yells and rushes to where Cas has collapsed between Gabriel and… “Hey aren’t you one of the assholes that grabbed him?” Dean demands of the angel with short blonde hair, wisps of a goatee and a ridiculously low cut shirt.

“I had a change of heart,” the angel remarks as Dean helps pull the unconscious Cas to the couch.

“Is he okay?” Dean demands. He’s not sure where to put his hands on Cas, whose face and chest are stained with blood. He’s breathing, which has got to count for something. Dean settles for cupping Cas’s face as he kneels beside him.

“Probably not,” Gabriel answers easily. “But you’re welcome anyway.”

“I’ll get some stuff,” Mom mutters.

Dean’s vaguely aware of Sam remaining where he is, staring, but his focus is on Cas. “What the hell do you mean ‘probably not’?” he asks, panic rising as Cas stirs and groans.

“Hold that thought a mo’,” is all Gabriel answers before disappearing again.

Dean looks to the other angel with a mix of frustration and hope.

“Naomi did her best to break him,” the angel – Balthazar, maybe? – tells Dean. “But he’s strong.”

“Okay, that’s taken care of,” Gabriel states, popping back into the living room with a swish. “Should keep us safe from the fam for a little while.”

Balthazar looks around at nothing that Dean can see and seems impressed. “Pocket dimension?”

“Nah, partial quantum shift, couldn’t get too fancy,” Gabriel replies.

“Hey!” Dean barks and the angels look back at him. “How do I help _Cas_?”

“Dean?”

Dean’s focus whips back to Cas, who is blinking blearily at him and trying to sit up.

“Cas? Hey, stay where you are, okay?” Dean tries to sound soothing and not freaked the fuck out by the fear and confusion on Cas’s face as he looks around the room.

“Why are you…Gabriel? Balthazar? How are you alive?” Cas asks.

“Oh goody, we’re back to this,” Balthazar sighs.

“Cas, what are you talking about?” Dean asks in utter bewilderment.

“Naomi scrambled his eggs real good,” Gabriel says. “Thinks most of us are dead. Can’t blame him in my case.”

“Cas, it’s kind of funny…Gabriel was under a curse. Remember Ringo?” Sam asks, approaching warily.

Cas’s eyes go wide. “Sam. I’m so sorry, I had to…” he protests, breath coming fast.

Dean places a hand on Cas’s clammy cheek and another on his chest. “Cas, Sam is fine, you didn’t do anything.”

Cas turns back to Dean, staring at him like he’s trying to recognize him and failing. “No. No. This is wrong. You’re…wrong.”

“Cas, whatever they did to you, you gotta shake it,” Dean entreats, running a thumb over Cas’s cheek and wincing when the angel recoils.

“He’s awake?”

Dean doesn’t look when his mother speaks, but Cas does and his confusion and panic mount at the sight.

“No, you’re dead too…” Cas whimpers in horror. “This isn’t real. It can’t…”

“What’s he talking about?” Mom asks as Cas begins to squirm and pant, though Dean refuses to let him get away from his touch.

“Oh, he’s a just bit cuckoo for coco puffs right now,” Gabriel says and Dean adds ‘punch an archangel’ to his bucket list.

“Cas, look at me,” Dean orders and the angel actually obeys, though his blue eyes are unfocused and full of fear and pain that breaks Dean’s heart. “It’s me. You know me, right?”

“I’ll always know you,” Cas whispers and his breath steadies a bit.

“See, that’s the start.” Dean tries to breathe slow and steady for Cas to follow, though who knows if he actually needs oxygen. Still seems to help. “You’re a little lost, okay? So let’s find you bearings.”

“I don’t understand,” Cas mutters and Dean smiles.

“You never do. Stay with me, though.”

Cas nods but he still looks sick and scared.

“Tell me what the last thing is you remember,” Dean tries. It’s obviously the wrong tact because Cas’s eyes go wide with terror or regret or something _bad_ at the prompt.

“Black,” Cas says shakily, grabbing the hand Dean has on his chest. “And water. I am…I _was_ falling apart. Drowning.”

“Are you talking about the beach? When I was a kid?” Dean asks, soft and urgent but Cas just looks more confused. “We can work with that. I remember it too, okay? _I_ was drowning and you saved me. You were in me, remember?”

“Whoa, TMI,” Gabriel mutters and Dean huffs in annoyance before going on, focusing on Cas’s eyes.

“Before that I never got how…awesome you were. Are. Like in the real _awe_ sense of the word. And it scared me, but I’ve never felt so small or protected. And I remember you were…amazed too. And you liked the taste of the ocean. Remember? The fries reminded you and…” He’s groping for anything now, but Cas’s face has started to soften and calm.

“I remember the sand on your hands,” Cas whispers and Dean lets out the breath he was holding. “I remember…you prayed to me for the first time soon after that.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Dean doesn’t know how but something seems to click for Cas and he blinks like he’s just woken up. “Cas, you with me?”

“I think so. Please, tell me the date,” Cas ask, sighing in what looks like relief.

“June 13, 2002,” Mom answers from behind him. “Thursday.”

“Hey, it’s your day,” Dean says with a smile, still holding Cas’s hand tight. Cas gives him a weak smile in return.

“You figuring stuff out, little bro?” Gabriel asks warily.

Cas sends him a dark look. “I still don’t understand how you’re here,” he mutters to the archangel. “But I do…have my bearings.”

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Mom offers, coming beside Dean and offering Cas a shirt. “In case you’re cold.”

Cas dresses and Dean takes extra care getting the blood off his face until he hears the sound of the front door slamming.

“Oh good, he’s back,” Bobby says as he enters, Rufus following behind carrying two six packs. “Who’s eurotrash?”

“Just another angel,” Mom answers easily.

The older hunter looks dubiously at Balthazar and shakes his head. “This freak show gets any bigger and we’re gonna run out of room.”

 

**Ilchester, Maryland**

 

Ava is learning that Ruby likes pain. She likes inflicting it on people, she likes watching it be inflicted and she likes feeling it. It works out well that Meg likes giving it, so now Ava is being treated to some extremely creative uses of needles while the demons kill time. She’s also learning that demons aren’t good with sharing. Ava misses her body and using it. She doesn’t like feeling things through the strange filter of smoke and hate. She wonders if it’s like that for Ruby too. Maybe that’s why she likes pain. Maybe it’s the only thing she can feel.

 _Are you seriously psychoanalyzing me_? Ruby asks to Ava’s surprise, sighing and rolling her eyes.

“What?” Meg asks, rising and wiping her mouth.

“Your girlfriend in here is getting _wistful_ ,” Ruby answers. “It’s incredibly annoying.”

“She always hated being left out,” Meg smiles. “Followed me out on a job when she was fifteen. That asshole had no idea what hit him…never mind.”

“Are all of you up here that soft?” Ruby asks contemptuously, shifting on the bare mattress they found. “If I didn’t know, I’d say you really cared.”

“Fuck off,” Meg sneers. “And shove her back down for all I care. Where’s your bitch boss by the way?”

“Here.” They both jump from the mattress, scrambling for clothes as Lilith appears. Ava’s gotten more used to the sight of her but it would still turn her stomach if she was in control of it. “Crowley was successful. We just need to be ready to strike when we have an opening. Take what is ours.”

“Should I pay sweet Sammy another little visit?” Ruby asks with a smile. “It was almost too easy last time.”

“After nightfall, perhaps,” Lilith coos, approaching Ruby and stroking her cheek. The touch quickly turns to a scratch and Ruby gives a little yelp of pleasure in Ava’s voice.

“I still don’t think you can trust Crowley,” Meg interrupts and Lilith sends her a deadly glare.

“Good thing your opinion wasn’t asked for,” Lilith hisses. “Now, go do something useful.”

Meg grabs her clothes with a scowl and leaves, slamming the door. Ava isn’t half so excited as before as Lilith advances, her eyes wicked and starving as she pushes Ruby down to the mattress.

 _Now you’re gonna see something real fun_ , Ruby cackles in Ava’s mind.

 

**Sioux Falls**

 

“Okay, let’s see if I got all this right,” Bobby says, incredulity and exhaustion dripping from his voice in a way that’s so particular to him it actually makes Mary happy. “You snatched Cas so the asshole angels could crack open his melon and figure out why he started this whole mess back in the day.”

“Yes,” Balthazar says. “And may I say, their result were as confusing to them as the process was to Cassie.”

“But then you turned coat and helped him out and now you’re on our side,” Bobby goes on.

Balthazar nods. “Though I’m not sure why. It’s not very characteristic of me and you’re very clearly going to lose,” the angel says before taking a bite of sandwich. Mary’s not sure she likes this one yet. “This jelly is an excellent vintage by the way, perfect complement to the peanut butter.”

“I like the banana version,” Gabriel says, nudging Sam where he sits nervously beside him across from Dean and Cas at the table. “Remember you used to share those with me all the time?”

“Dude, still weird,” Sam mutters.

“So,” Bobby goes on. “Mr. Archangel The Wonder Mutt helped you take out heaven’s resident brain surgeon and a few flunkies.” Cas winces at that and keeps his attention on his third bowl of tomato rice soup. “Then you made a daring escape and somehow cloaked us from the, what was it Cas called it? ‘The inevitable devastating wrath of Heaven?’”

“Sounds about right, though I was way more heroic in my version,” Gabriel says and Mary rolls her eyes.

“Except no one’s told us how you got…un-dogged,” Sam interjects. Mary notes Dean’s uncomfortable squirm.

“Or what Heaven or Hell’s actual plan is here. And I know someone here knows,” Mary adds. The awkward silence that falls on the room is epic, as two sons and three angels all avoid eye contact with her. “I will count to three and if one of you doesn’t spill, so help me I will –”

“It’s the sixty-six seals.”

The whole room turns to cast bewildered looks at Castiel. All except Gabriel.

“Something tells me that’s not a show at Sea World,” Dean mutters and Cas gives him a weary look.

“They’re…events, actually,” Balthazar explains and it does nothing to ease Mary’s fear. “There are six hundred and sixty-six possible seals, but if sixty-six are completed – broken – Lucifer goes free.”

“Okay, what does that have to do with us?” Sam asks.

“The vessels are destined to break the first and last seals, if you believe what’s written. Somewhere, by someone, don’t ask me who,” Balthazar replies, still blasé.

“Great! So, like I said we don’t break ’em,” Dean chirps, sending Cas a cheerful look that goes unrepaid.

“Except you have one foot out the door on the first one, kiddo,” Gabriel says, his voice lacking its usual humor.

Dean looks cowed and pale at that and Mary’s stomach starts to churn.

“Dean, what’s he talking about?” Sam asks for all of them.

It’s Cas who looks like he might fall apart though, speaking towards the table. “A righteous man will shed blood in hell.”

“Okay, shitty, but why would Dean go to hell?” Sam protests then stop as Dean rises from the table, looking away from the assembled group.

“Dean,” Mary whispers the world crumbling under her feet. “Did you sell your _soul_?”

“I had to, okay?” Dean replies plaintively, turning around with tears in his eyes and looking at from Mary to Cas. “I couldn’t just let them erase you.”

“You _stupid_ , reckless, idjit,” Bobby proclaims, his face twisted in emotion.

“I wasn’t worth that,” Cas murmurs.

“No, you were. You –”

“Summon him back,” Mary interjects. Her heart feels like lead as Dean looks at her in confusion. “Summon that smarmy crossroads demon _back_ and tell him I’ll go in your place.”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way, darling,” Balthazar says quietly. “The soul they want in Hell is Dean’s.”

“So, I just…won’t die,” Dean tries to joke but falters. “And in my defense, the asshole said it’d work out for me in the end.”

“Heaven will resurrect you to serve as a vessel, yes,” Cas says darkly. “After you suffer a lifetime of unbearable torture in Hell until you-” He doesn’t finish. Instead he stands abruptly and leaves, heading upstairs.

“Keeping you alive is one part, yeah,” Gabriel says with a sigh, looking after Cas. “But the other biggie is making it so they can’t break the _final_ seal. Which is killing Lilith.”

“So we gank queen bitch before then,” Rufus says and Gabriel grimaces.

“Except only someone in Lucifer’s bloodline can do it, and that takes…work,” the archangel explains.

“You mean me,” Sam mutters and Gabriel slings an arm around him. “That’s what Ava meant…I sorta had a dream about her.”

“I noticed someone rooting around in there,” Gabriel replies. “But yeah, it could be you. Or it could be my other favorite Winchester.” With that, Gabriel looks at Mary and waggles his eyebrows.

“Me?” Mary asks, annoyed because of course it’s her job too. “Fine. I don’t care. Get me to her and I’ll kill her with my bare hands. We have to get Dean out of this mess _first_.”

“Mom…” Dean protests

Mary shushes him with a finger in the air. “No. _No_. You’re my son and I will not let you die _or_ go to Hell!” she cries. “And don’t you dare say it’s your choice because when it’s a stupid choice I still win. We have five hunters and three angels and all the books and _we are going to fix this_.”

The room is silent once more in the face of Mary’s determination. She has to be determined though. She has to keep fighting and trying or she’ll break apart and have to face not the end of the world in some distant sense, but the end of her world if she has to watch her son die. Even if he’s dying for love, she can’t let it happen.

“Well, for now we’re protected so, I guess that’s the plan,” Bobby declares. “Can I show you gents to the library?” he asks Balthazar and Gabriel.

“How about the liquor cabinet first?” Balthazar replies.

 

∞

 

Castiel thinks it’s about an hour before he hears a soft knock on Dean’s bedroom door. The sun is getting low and casts the small room in golden light. He can see so many little things that make up Dean from his place curled on the bed: his records and notebooks and tools and computer and novels and faded pictures of his father. He can smell Dean in the sheets, feel him still near in the house…it all keeps him in the moment like an anchor.

“Cas?” Dean’s hesitant voice asks as the door creaks open. Castiel concentrates on the exact timbre of that voice. It’s gentler and higher than the other one he keeps remembering, just as his Dean’s features are smoother, brighter, and the soul within is less bruised.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says with a tired smile, sitting up and turning to the hunter.

“You pissed at me?”

“Very,” Castiel answers without malice.

“Fair enough,” Dean says with a shrug as he approaches, taking a seat carefully at the end of the bed. “You know I had to, right?”

“I said…”

“You don’t think you deserve saving, yeah I heard,” Dean whispers and it makes something echo in Castiel that gives him chills. “How about you let me decide what you’re worth to me.”

“Your decision making skills are unreliable at best,” Castiel mutters and warms when Dean smiles.

“Asshole. How are things,” Dean gestures to Castiel’s head, “otherwise?”

“I’m trying to stay…here,” Castiel answers unsteadily. “Naomi made me – see things, remember things; things that haven’t happened, or didn’t happen. I’m not sure.”

“Is this like that déjà vu deal?”

“Yes, I think so. But I can’t make any sense of it,” Cas tells him unhappily. “Anytime I try to concentrate on one of those visions everything just…breaks apart.”

“Sorry,” Dean mutters, avoiding Castiel’s eyes but taking his hand.

“Why?”

“I just can’t see how knowing me – us – has really been great for you, overall,” Dean answers with a shrug.

“Dean, stop,” Castiel orders. “There is much I regret in my existence. But not meeting you. Never you.” He catches Dean’s eye finally and holds his gaze as he squeezes his hand. “You should also let me decide what you’re worth to me.”

“Yeah?” Dean asks, surprisingly shy.

Perhaps it’s because just the feel of Dean’s hand and the texture of his skin keeps Castiel in the moment, or perhaps it’s because of the way Dean smiles, but Castiel does not hesitate when the impulse to kiss him strikes. Dean gives a surprised sigh when their lips meet but responds easily and immediately. Nothing in Castiel’s head makes sense, but this…this feels right and real and good. He pulls Dean towards him and he comes easily, pressing their chests together as Castiel shifts them so that Dean is pinned beneath him.

“You’re worth everything,” Castiel whispers as he slips hands up Dean’s sides to his chest. Somewhere from the depth of his shattered mind, he remembers himself pressed against Dean with other words echoing. _I did it, all of it, for you_. Castiel winces and draws back at the vividness of the impossible memory.

“Cas?”

Castiel blinks, looking down at Dean’s worried face, the fading light of sunset highlighting his green eyes with gold. There’s no pain or blood or resignation there. There doesn’t need to be. Dean runs a soothing hand along Castiel’s back and kisses him. The vision fades in favor of reality. This has to be reality, Castiel tells himself. There’s no way Hell or Heaven or Purgatory could make him feel and taste and _know_ like this.

Castiel pulls back and tugs off his shirt while Dean struggles awkwardly under him to do the same. He lunges into another kiss the second they’re free, savoring the heat of Dean’s skin against his own. He rolls his body against Dean, sending a delirious wave of pleasure up from his groin as he tastes the hum of enjoyment that Dean gives.

“Here we are again,” Dean says, voice strained and breathless, as Castiel kisses at his neck, catching the scent of his sweat and skin. Castiel has no idea if Dean’s words warrant a reply so he just rolls his hips again and earns a low moan from the hunter. The sensation and friction shudder through him in waves, to each cell of the body that now feels entirely his, entirely real. He is distant from the hum of stars and so small and confined in the flesh and yet it is wondrous. And it’s not just the feeling or the taste or texture, it’s that _Dean_ is the one here with him. Still with him. Always there, even after everything.

“Dean.” He’s not sure why he says the name, it simply seems natural to do so, just as it feels natural to keep moving against him, pushing their hard cocks together through their jeans. If he thinks too much about what or how or why, he fears he will be lost again and he wants nothing more than to stay with Dean, here in this moment.

“Fuck,” Dean groans as Castiel kisses his collar bone and shifts above him once more. The presence of pants seems counterproductive at the moment. “Not keeping it above the belt this time are we?”

Castiel pauses, squinting at Dean in the fading light with one hand on the zipper of his jeans. “Is that not acceptable?”

Dean gives a breathless laugh, letting his head fall back on the pillow. “Oh, it’s acceptable. Very acceptable.” Castiel resumes his task, stopping Dean’s mouth with a kiss as Dean helps push the pants off Castiel with hands and even feet. It’s awkward and uncomfortable, but the increased intensity of the pleasure when Castiel presses his groin to Dean’s again is worth it. “You sure you’ve never done this before?”

“At the moment, no,” Castiel mutters and Dean laughs again, a light, delirious sound that gets lost in a kiss.

“Lemme help a bit then,” Dean says as they part and snakes a hand between them. His face is open and hesitant as his fingers slip past the edge of the Castiel’s boxers and to his erect member. Just the touch, gentle and warm, makes Castiel moan. That makes Dean grin as he slides his hand up and down Castiel’s length a few times before adjusting the angle and canting his own hips up. Castiel gives another shuddering groan and grinds back, then kisses Dean long and deep.

“This is very enjoyable,” Cas murmurs, catching his breath.

“We haven’t even gotten to the real good stuff.” Dean pushes a hand through Castiel’s hair then caressing his cheek in a gesture that somehow feels more intimate than anything else.

Castiel doesn’t mirror him, not quite. He touches Dean’s face instead, takes in his eyes as the last light fades, and brushes his fingertips down his jaw, his throat, over his collar bone and to his left shoulder. He flattens his palm against Dean’s heated skin and his hand seems to fit perfectly in place.

Just like before.

Everything about this moment is different, and yet in the echoes of his grace he can see and understand at last.

And remember.


	19. Come Together

Somehow it isn’t weird at all for Sam to see Castiel rush down the stairs in his boxers.

“Cas, are you-” Mom doesn’t even get to finish asking before the back door slams after Cas. She sinks back down to the kitchen table in defeat. “Should I go after him?”

“Eh, give him a bit,” Gabriel says, lazily turning the page of one of Bobby’s old books across the living room desk from Sam. He takes a handful of M&Ms from the bowl beside him that Sam has no recollection of anyone actually putting there. “If Dean-o doesn’t come after him in a few minutes, maybe give it a try then.”

“You’re pretty relaxed considering…everything,” Sam mutters as his mother sighs in frustration. 

“What can I say? I’m just happy to be on two legs,” the angel replies before chomping more candy.

“Yeah, but…you’re like, extra chill,” Sam says. Gabriel finally meets his eyes, something thoughtful and a bit dangerous in his gaze. “You weren’t scared at all about Cas and you don’t actually seem that worried about Dean.”

“Angels don’t usually get warm and fuzzy over shit,” Gabriel replies with a sly smile. “Sweetcheeks who just streaked through being the big exception.”

“No, that’s not what I mean.”

Gabriel smirks. “You asking if I know something I’m not telling?”

“Do you?”

“Of course.”

The reply really shouldn’t surprise Sam but he raises his eyebrows anyway. “And whatever it is…is good?” he asks hopefully and Gabriel inclines his head with a sort of ‘are you kidding me’ expression. “Come on, if you know something that can help-”

“Oh, it can’t help. Honest to Dad, I have no idea how this is gonna turn out.”

“But you want us to win, right? You got turned into a friggin’ _dog_ trying to help us,” Sam says and Gabriel sighs.

“I kinda deserved that one, actually. Karma. I did some things, said some things – and they were kind of mean, stupid things. But it was the heat of the moment, you know?”

“Not really.”

“Here’s what I do know,” Gabriel says, leaning in towards Sam conspiratorially. “You and big bro, just on your own you’re pretty…formidable, let’s say. Add in your family – including Cas and Angrier Danny Glover over in the corner – and even with odds this bad, I’d bet on you.”

Sam shakes his head. “You’re family too, you know.” That actually seems to surprise the angel and Sam smiles. “Come on, your family are assholes –”

“I can hear you,” mutters Balthazar across the room.

“Like I said, your family are assholes, you’ve protected us for, like, forever, and you were family when you had fur so…”

“Aw, Sasquatch, you’re gonna make me get all misty-eyed,” Gabriel jokes but there’s a bit of grudging warmth in his eyes. “Does this mean I still get to sleep at the foot of your bed?”

“And you ruined it.”

His mother and Balthazar give identical sighs, and Mom rises from her seat. “I waited long enough.”

“You checking on Dean?”

“No. I’m checking on the half-naked angel sitting on the hood of his car.”

 

 

“You’re going to catch a cold,” Mary says when she get to the Impala. Cas turns from his forlorn observation of the stars to stare at her in confusion. “I’m a mom, it’s what I’m supposed to say.”

“I know; I remember,” Castiel replies, surprising her. “You would say it every time Sam and Dean came out of the water at the beach and didn’t towel off fast enough. Your father would say to you that people in California didn’t get colds.”

Mary lets out a soft laugh. “I almost forgot that. Then when they did get sick, he’d always get it too and complain like it was the end of the world.”

“Dean would always try and cook, whenever anyone was ill,” Castiel goes on as Mary hoists herself up onto the hood beside him. He looks back up at the stars. “I asked him about it once, because I didn’t understand at the time and the food had no particular medicinal properties. He said that feeding people is how you take care of them.”

“Sam would eat whatever he made back then,” Mary muses and Castiel closes his eyes in pain or sadness.

 “Some things don’t change,” the angel whispers.

“What does that mean?” Honestly, Mary’s afraid to ask, but she can’t let Cas sit here and suffer if it’s up to her.

“Do you remember when Sam was little, just learning to walk?” Castiel asks out of the blue.

“Yeah, but you may need to be more specific for me.”

“He would always want to hold someone’s hand at first, even though he could do fine without it. Dean got so annoyed with him because he knew Sam could do it but he still wanted Dean’s help. It was one of the first things he ever told me. But one day Sam just started doing it on his own and never looked back. Dean was upset, which I didn’t understand, but you told him…”

“The same thing John said when Dean started walking away from me,” Mary says with a sad smile. “To be proud that he was moving on his own but to always keep a step behind, for when he was needed.”

“And he always did.” Castiel looks at Mary with an expression of love, pride and sadness. “In any world. In any life…he always did, he always does. He stands behind people. He saves them. That is who Dean is, no matter what.”

“Cas, I’m still not following,” Mary murmurs, fighting back sudden tears.

“Dean would give his soul for Sam. Or you. He’d give anything for his...family,” Castiel says, his deep voice firm and rough. “This time it was for me. How deeply he cares, how much he will give to protect those he…he loves. That’s always been the weakness they could exploit.”

“You keep talking about this like he’s…done this before? But unless he’s much better at keeping secrets than I-”

“No. It’s…It’s complicated,” Castiel sighs.

“That’s not an answer.”

Castiel gives her a forlorn look and breathes deep before replying. “Something changed the past,” Castiel finally explains and Mary is barely fazed.

“Like, time travel? Sure let’s add that to the mix. Why not?”

Castiel gives half a smile. “The things I keep remembering. They didn’t happen; haven’t happened. But they were real. Or would have been without that change.”

“Why do you remember them?”

“I’m the one that changed things, and no, I still don’t quite know how, but…it started with me and I carry the impressions of that other world in me. Like a sheet of paper is marked by writing on the page above it. I remember.”

“And in that…other reality, Dean goes to Hell?” Mary asks, more than a bit confused and horrified. “But you said Heaven would save him after…”

“We did. After the first seal broke. I claimed his soul back and restored him,” Cas confesses and Mary is thunderstruck.

“And the apocalypse started.” Cas just nods. “So we’re right back there. This whole destiny thing…it’s inevitable.”

“It would seem so,” Castiel replies. “Hell, the archangels, Lucifer… no matter how hard we try we can’t rewrite the story. Or keep it rewritten.”

“But if you know what’s happened before, or will happen, can’t you stop it?”

“It’s the same as knowing their destiny, I just…have a few more details.” Cas looks utterly defeated. “Even when they meet the devil and defeat him, what happens after is even worse.”

“You’re sure you’re not still…whatever you were before,” Mary asks and Cas shakes his head.

“I’m completely lucid. Which is refreshing.”

Mary has to chuckle at the dry, annoyed tone Cas uses. “So, you gonna tell me what you changed?”

“You can’t guess?” Cas asks back, surprisingly sarcastic. It takes Mary a moment but when she realizes, it makes perfect sense.

“The night John died,” Mary whispers. “Dean wasn’t supposed to wake up. But how did…”

Cas’s face is awash with regret and sympathy, telling Mary all she needs to know.

“It wasn’t about waking Dean up,” Cas says slowly. “It was about saving you.”

“That’s why…before, you said I was supposed to be dead.”

Cas nods. “And John Winchester was destined to live.”

Mary swallows, trying to wrap her mind around the idea. An entire other…reality or timeline or whatever, where she wasn’t there for her boys. Where they met the devil. Where her son went to hell. Where she could do nothing to save them…

“We can’t let them take Dean again,” Mary reaffirms. “I won’t let them.”

“Nor will I, if I have a choice,” Cas says and Mary takes a moment to stare at him.

“I think I’m starting to get it,” she says, fussing with the angel’s unruly hair as he squints back at her. “How much you love him.”

“Oh,” Cas smiles sadly. “I’m beginning to understand it as well.”

“I appreciate that you figured this all out while doing something with my son that didn’t require pants,” Mary remarks, rolling her eyes. “And no, I don’t need details.”

“I probably shouldn’t have left.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna start developing abandonment issues.”

Both of them turn to see Dean standing near the back of the car, a hoodie that looks like it might belong to Sam half-zipped over his clear lack of any other shirt.

“How much of that were you eavesdropping on?” Mary asks.

“None of it,” Dean shrugs. “He tell you anything good?”

“That’s up to him to disclose,” Mary replies and looks between her son and Cas as they stare each other down. “I’ll let you talk.” Mary and Cas ease themselves off the hood and Mary takes advantage of the moment she regains Cas’s attention to pull him into a hug. “Thank you,” she whispers. Cas gives her a solemn nod and she turns to Dean, patting him on the shoulder encouragingly. “Don’t let him catch a cold.”

 

 

Dean doesn’t really know what to say once he’s alone again with Cas. One minute he’d been close to joining Cas in the no pants club and the next Cas was staring at him like he’d seen a ghost then running away. Again.

“You gotta stop bailing on me, seriously,” Dean mutters as Cas approaches.

“I’m sorry, I...had to take a minute,” Cas replies, looking away.

“Are you okay? Was that another-”

“No, I mean…yes. But I’m alright. Better than before actually. Clearer.” Cas seems to want to say something more but revises. Dean wants to push but he’s also afraid on about ten different levels of the answers. Cas visibly shuddering, either from cold or something else, is a good enough distraction.

“Come on, get in here.” Dean pulls the door of the Impala open and tugs Cas after him into the back seat. He fishes out an old blanket and hands it to the angel, who is looking around the car wistfully.

“You’d rather be home than inside?” Cas asks, pulling the blanket around him.

“I didn’t think about it that way, but yeah,” Dean replies quietly. “You gonna talk now?”

Cas gives a sad smile, still managing not to really look at Dean. “I remembered your deal. It was…upsetting.”

“That’s it?” Dean asks because Cas is a lot of things but a good liar isn’t one of them.

“No, but…” Cas hesitates again and finally looks at Dean. One day those eyes won’t take Dean’s breath away, but it ain’t today. “It’s my most pressing concern.”

“It’s not like it’s happening _now_.” The grief on Cas’s face is enough to shut Dean up and also clear away all the bullshit he was hiding under. “Come on, Cas, I need you to be positive or something right now, cause I’m scared shitless.”

“You want me to lie,” Cas says, something bemused in his expression. “Dean, I wish I could promise that I won’t let it happen but…”

Dean sighs, his head falling back against the seat. “I know.”

“If I could–” Cas cuts himself off with a bitter laugh, echoing Dean’s posture and letting his head loll back as well.

“I’m just trying not to think about it,” Dean confesses, turning to look at Cas again and giving him a weak smile. It’s all he can manage. “Thinking about what you said about Heaven instead. Wondering if one day I’ll get to see what mine is.”

“Dean…”

“I was thinking maybe it might be this day we went to the beach. Sandy Cove. I liked that place, before almost dying there. Kinda still did afterward, ’cause it made me think of you…” Cas looks moved by that, smiling back at Dean in the bluish dark. “Anyway. There was this one day where Mom got home early for once. And we decided to go to the beach. Sammy, Grampa, even Ringo. It was so bright and warm, but not too hot and there was a breeze. Totally perfect, ya know?”

“No, but I wish I did,” Cas replies honestly, and it’s Dean’s turn to smile.

“On the way there we stopped at this roadside place, just a guy selling strawberries out of the back of a pick-up. We bought a whole flat and ate them right at the edge of the water. I remember how they were warm from being out in the sun and perfect and sweet and juicy…”

“Your heaven is food?”

“No, it was just…one of those moments; where everyone was there and safe. It was quiet and bright and…”

“I remember, I was there,” Cas murmurs.

“Wish I could go back there. Get you some strawberries, make a new memory with you really there.”

Cas gives another wistful smile and nods. “That’s a nice idea. Though unlikely.”

“Hey, we’re being positive,” Dean chides. “And it ain’t like I’m dying tonight or something.”

“We don’t know that,” Cas argues and in lieu of panicking at that thought, Dean just rolls his eyes.

“Is this you trying the 'last night on earth’ line on me?”

“Well, it is one of your classics,” Cas replies and Dean scoffs.

“Hey, I’m not that easy.” Cas raises an eyebrow and Dean grins. “Okay, maybe for you.”

“I appreciate that,” Cas says as Dean slides his hand onto Cas’s thigh. “You won’t understand this right now, but…I’m glad that we made it here, if just for this. I…” Cas can’t seem to get the words out, just grasps Dean’s hand and squeezes it tight.

“You love me?” Dean ventures and Cas’s face fills with apprehension and doubt. “Hey, maybe I did hear a bit.”

“Dean, I-I know…” Cas stammers and Dean catches his cheek in his hand to stop him.

“Dude, please tell me you know I feel the same way right?”

This is very obviously something Cas does not know, if the look he gives Dean is anything to go by. The idea that Cas could think that makes Dean laugh before kissing him. Not hard, not sensual; just a reminder.

“I love you, moron,” Dean mutters. Cas closes his eyes, like he’s memorizing the words, then pulls Dean close and kisses him again. This kiss is decidedly not chaste, it’s frenzied wonder and hunger and need. It’s zero to a hundred in less than a second and Dean is on board. Cas’s hands are everywhere and Dean’s borrowed hoodie in gone almost instantly. Cas maneuvers Dean so that his back is on the seat and, once again, the angel is above him, thighs bracketing Dean’s hips.

“We gotta stop meeting like this,” Dean laughs and Cas just frowns at him. “Never mind. Though I’m telling you, if you bug out on me again…”

“I don’t plan on it.” Dean has no idea how Cas’s voice got lower, but however it happened it goes straight to his dick. That, and the fact that Cas may be a literal virgin angel, but he certainly has no problem manhandling Dean like a pro.

For the third time (and it better be the fucking charm, God help him) Dean feels Cas hard against his thigh. Dean’s not tentative, now that he’s pretty sure Cas is into this, and also that whole thing where a fucking cosmic being might actually love him. He pushes his hand into Cas’s boxers and takes his cock in hand. Making Cas moan is very, very satisfying and he hopes he lives long enough to do it more. He strokes Cas easy and slow, dragging his thumb over the head and spreading a small drip of precome. Cas’s breath hitches as he kisses Dean and fumbles between them. Just the simple pressure of Cas’s hand on his dick sends a few fireworks into Dean’s brain, even if it’s a bad angle and there are too many clothes still between them.

“Pants,” Dean grunts. Cas understands and obeys, helping Dean unbutton and unzip and then wiggle out of his boxers and jeans in the cramped, dark confines of the back seat. Dean can’t help but laugh. “This is why people use beds,” he mutters when he’s finally free and they’ve pushed off Cas’s boxers for good measure too.

“Should we go inside?” Cas asks earnestly.

“Hell fucking no,” Dean replies and pulls Cas back down to him, chest to chest, heated skin to skin. Cas’s dick pushes against his, and it feels so good even though nothing about the positioning is right. But they can fix that. Again Dean slips his hand between them, taking both their cocks in hand and stroking a few times before lining them up perfectly in the juncture of Dean’s hip and thigh. It’s a bit dry, nothing to smooth the friction but precome and sweat and it’s more than a little difficult for two grown men to move in any way in the back seat of the Impala, but damn if Cas grinding them together isn’t the best thing Dean’s ever felt.

They move together, kissing and panting, fogging up the windows like it’s a fucking scene from _Titanic_. That idea almost makes Dean laugh, because this whole thing, all of it, is insane and absurd and wonderful, and when Cas pulls back to look at him it feels like the whole universe is looking at him. Cas moves faster, even as he stares down at Dean, eyes dark and mouth hanging open. It’s the most beautiful sight Dean’s ever seen. He should say that, say something good or hot or fucking profound, but he can’t find the words because Cas has him careening toward climax and all he can do is gasp Cas’s name over and over.

“Fuck, Cas…” he moans, pushing his hips up to meet Cas’s thrust and it’s just enough of a change to do him in. Dean comes, spurting hot between them with a pretty undignified cry and it’s fucking glorious and shattering and a whole bunch of other words that escape him. He comes back to himself just in time to observe Cas breathing fast above him, bringing his hand to rest on Dean’s shoulder before his whole body goes tense. Cas doesn’t look away, doesn’t even blink as he comes. Somewhere far in the distance, lights flicker and Dean hears a pop and the muffled sound of someone yelling in annoyance. Dean slows the movement of his hips, coaxing Cas through the aftershocks until he lets out a breath and collapses against Dean. Dean kisses his damp forehead and lets out a soft laugh.

“Not bad for a first time,” he murmurs against Cas’s messy hair. He can feel Cas smile against the nape of his neck.

“I’m beginning to understand why humans are so fond of this,” Cas replies, pushing himself back up to look at Dean then noticing the stickiness in between them. “Though it is…messy.”

“Yeah, well, that’s life,” Dean says, grabbing the hoodie he discarded and doing his best to clean them up. “Hope Sam didn’t like this one.”

“Do we need to go back in?”

“Eh, we’ll have to do the walk of shame eventually, maybe before Bobby finds new lightbulbs…” Dean smirks and Cas gives him that confused bird look.

“I’m not ashamed about this, or you. Are you?”

“No, Cas, it’s an expression. Your favorite thing.” Dean pauses to ruffle Cas’s hair again. “I’m not ashamed of you. Fuck, I’m gonna be insufferable about my boyfriend the angel if I ever get the chance.”

That makes Cas smile. “I like this world,” he says, which Dean doesn’t really get, but Cas kisses him again, so he doesn’t worry.

 

 

Castiel is more than a little reluctant to leave the Impala and return to the house. It feels safe in the car: cut off from the various impending dooms awaiting them. And it has a double familiarity now that is comforting rather than jarring. It takes them a little while to finally unwind themselves and struggle back into what little clothes they had on to begin with. The lights are out in the house, which doesn’t mean much given that Cas might have blown all the fuses (which Dean had expressed significant pride about). Still, they try to be quiet as they open the back door and creep into the kitchen.

All the lights snap on the moment the door closes behind them.

“Fuck,” Dean whispers as a slow clap begins, Gabriel of course the source. The archangel is leaning against the fireplace, the rest of the family arrayed through the living room with varying expressions of exasperation and amusement on their faces.

“I guess you’re finally a real boy,” Gabriel says and Balthazar gives an approving nod as well.

“Thought we were supposed to be findin’ a way to save your sorry ass, not gettin’ ass,” Bobby grumbles and Dean turns an alarming shade of red.

“I hope you were at least careful,” Mary adds.

“Oh my god, this isn’t happening,” Dean mutters, hiding his face in his hands.

“I thought you said you weren’t ashamed?” Castiel asks, more than a bit confused by Dean’s reaction.

“Could someone at least get these morons in some clothes?” Rufus says.

“Good plan,” Mary says with a smile and Castiel is getting frustrated at this point. Dean seems to have had enough as well and drags him away and up the stairs.

“What happened to my hoodie!?” Sam yells after them.

Dean sighs and sinks to his bed when they make it to his room. “Sorry. Just a bit embarrassed.”

“Human social compunctions are extremely confusing and frustrating,” Castiel mutters.

“I’ll make it up to you?” There’s a glint in Dean’s eye and an easy smile that gives Castiel some suspicion of his meaning.                                                         

“You mean sexually?”

Dean laughs and nods his head. “Yeah, exactly. But first let’s get decent and make an appearance downstairs.”

“I –” Castiel hesitates. He needs to explain to Dean what he knows now, even though he is just beginning to understand it himself. It was easier with Mary. She was the change but Dean…Dean was, is, and always will be the reason.

“What?” Dean asks after Castiel has regarded him silently for too long.

“Nothing, I just…” He doesn’t know what to say and he doesn’t want to lie. But he can’t put that burden on Dean, even now. “Do you know where my pants went?”

They don’t linger upstairs for too long, Dean commenting that people will get suspicious, and rightly so given the looks they receive when they emerge fully dressed in the living room.

“So, any progress?” Dean asks, clapping his hands together.

“You’d think with this many angels on the team we’d have somethin’ but…” Bobby shakes his head and Castiel sees Dean’s face fall. He can guess what Balthazar and Gabriel have already told them.

“Once a claim is laid on a soul, only the holder of the claim can release it,” Castiel says grimly. “The only chance for you is to get Crowley to break the deal.”

“ _If_ Crowley holds the contract. But he was working for Lilith so that’s probably a dead end since she’ll never let it go,” Balthazar adds. “I’ve been trying to explain this.”

“Well, that’s not good enough!” Mary snaps, slamming a book closed and making the whole room jump.

“Mom, it’s okay,” Dean tries but it does nothing to soothe the look on her face.

Castiel feels the same weight pressing down on him again; The knowledge that had faded to the background while he’d been with Dean striking like thunder and filling him with dread.

“No, it’s not,” Mary protests. “And until we fix this no one is letting you out of their sight.”

“Mom…”

“No, Dean. I’m serious, we’re not letting you die,” Mary says.

“I’m not planning on it,” Dean tries to console her with a forced smile. “I got a lot to do! There’s like two more _Lord of the Rings_ movies coming, I got three more states to hit before I get ‘em all. Hell, I gotta see Alaska too, right?”

Mary looks like she’s ready to cry but tries to smile back.

“Gotta teach Cas about the wonders of Astroglide,” Gabriel offers and Dean glares at him.

“Gotta figure out of it’s okay to sucker punch an archangel.”

“What about just killing Lilith?” Sam says and Castiel opens his mouth to respond.

“That’s exactly what she hopes you’ll try,” a different voice responds and the whole room spins to see Crowley standing in the kitchen, examining the Colt. Both Mary and Castiel step in front of Dean protectively, ready for a fight. “All in good time, of course.”

“What in God’s name?” Rufus exclaims.

“Exactly,” Crowley smirks. “You’ve got a little less than an hour before the big guns in Heaven are locked, loaded and aimed right here.”

“But they can’t find…” Sam begins.

“They know what city all their little misbehaving boys are in, that’s close enough,” Crowley replies with a shrug. Castiel feels distinctly sick.

“They wouldn’t destroy a whole city just to…” Bobby says.

“Oh yeah, they would,” Gabriel replies, voice bitter and dark.

“That said, certain timelines had to be moved up, sorry to say,” Crowley goes on, face impassive and his tone almost bored.

“What do you mean?” Castiel knows what’s going to happen before he even finishes the words and Crowley gives a lightning quick wink before vanishing.

“What –” Dean’s question is cut off by the knife Crowley pushes into his back as he reappears behind him.

Mary screams as Crowley pulls out the knife and Dean’s slumps into Castiel’s arms, an expression of shock frozen on his face.

“His reaper is probably on very special orders to work fast, by the way” Crowley says as Castiel cradles Dean. Mary sinks to the floors with them, desperately trying to stem the bleeding from where the knife went straight through Dean’s heart.

“No, no, no,” Castiel whispers, still trying to summon up the remnants of his grace and finding nothing that could heal. He can feel the life seeping out of Dean as he trembles between them, his eyes unfocused.

“Heal him!” Mary yells to Castiel and the other angels.

“Heaven won’t let them, sorry,” Crowley remarks. “Now, one more thing I need.” In the blink of an eye the demon is behind Sam, setting a hand on his shoulder. “Come along, Moose. Good luck, Cas,” he says before both of them vanish.

“No!” Mary screams.

“Mom…” Dean whispers, barely audible, blood seeping from his mouth.

“Dean, no,” Castiel breathes, rage and hate and grief and utter disbelief filling him. “No. This wasn’t supposed to happen this time, you can’t…”

It’s too late.

Cas feels it. He feels the moment Dean’s soul is taken, the moment his body ceases to be Dean and becomes nothing but a cold, empty piece of flesh. He feels the loss and the emptiness and the _absence_. He feels his world end.


	20. Yesterday

“Fix this,” Mary commands, shocked by the steadiness in her own voice. She can’t look at her son’s dead body. She won’t. So she looks at Cas, the whole of her rage and grief focused on him. “Fix this, _now_.”

“I _can’t_ ,” Cas grits out and the words seem to break him. “He’s…”

“He’s gone, Hell has him,” Balthazar states and Mary surges up and rounds on him.

“They can’t have him!” she screams, burning her throat raw as she strikes out at the angel, her fits meeting with his chest uselessly. “Bring him back! You said that’s what they would do!” She turns back to Cas, only half seeing him through the tears in her eyes. “You said you did it before. Do it again!”

“It took a whole garrison, and even then, they may have just allowed it because…” Cas says, his voice numb and dull.

“No! No excuses!” Mary yells, lurching towards Cas.

Bobby grabs her to hold her back. “Mary…”

“What about Sam?” Rufus demands and Mary feels like she might die herself, because two sons lost is too much, it’s too horrific. Maybe she did switch places with Dean because this has to be Hell. She can’t imagine anything hurting more than this.

“Azazel wants him safe from the wrath that’s about the rain down on us,” Balthazar says and his calm makes Mary give another screaming sob.

“Please, please…” Mary whimpers, wrenching herself out of Bobby’s arms to sink back to her son’s side and grab Cas’s limp arm. “Please bring him back.”

“I don’t have the power,” Castiel says quietly then looks up, eye determined and grim, looking at Gabriel in challenge. “I’m going anyway.”

“Cas, it’ll kill you,” the archangel protests but there’s something knowing in his voice and his face in uncharacteristically dark. “And I don’t know if me all on my lonesome will have the juice to help you break into Hell!”

“I don’t care,” Cas replies instantly. Mary’s heart leaps with hope as Cas looks back down at Dean’s body and places a hand carefully on his shoulder. Light glows beneath the touch and she hears Gabriel swear behind her. “Find Sam,” Castiel orders as the room fills with blinding light.

 

**Not Home**

 

Sam is in…a church? At least some place that used to be a church. Half the pews are broken, the whole place is dark and covered in a layer of dust and the crucifix that must have once hung above the altar has been cast aside and shattered. Still, doesn’t seem like the sort of place a demon would take him.

Maybe it’s a dream.

Maybe he didn’t see a demon kill his brother and hear his mother screaming before ending up here, wherever that is. Sam reaches for a decrepit statue of the virgin Mary and the dusty porcelain is cold and real under his hand.

Shit.

Sam feels like he might throw up and his heart is racing. He tries to breathe but he can’t manage to gulp in enough air as he falls to his knees, shaking and trying to push away the image of Dean’s dying breath.

“No, no…he can’t be…”

“Oh, he is,” a voice chimes from the shadows and Sam scuttles backwards, groping for something, anything to use as a weapon. “If Crowley did his job.”

“Who…” Sam asks, his voice shaking as the shape emerges from the dark. “No. You’re –”

“Dead?” Ava asks, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “Not quite.”

“How?”

Ava gives a closed mouth grin and her eyes fill with black. “Your honey is still in here, before you ask,” the demon says. “And the fact I’m riding along doesn’t mean you get off for that whole murdering her in cold blood thing. She’ll die as soon as I find a better outfit.”

“What’s going on?” Sam demands. “Why am I here?”

“Well, Azazel’s girl doesn’t trust Crowley, so Lilith told him to rat you out to the angels and collect on that deal. No need to waste time,” the demon explains casually. “We grabbed you cause we can’t have our golden boy getting smited. Smote? Never got that conjugation.”

“So you’re just gonna keep me prisoner until I’m useful. Great.”

“Believe it or not, I’m here to help,” the demon says, advancing on Sam slowly then kneeling down. “You’re destined for great things, Sammy, amazing things. We’ve only ever wanted to help you be who you were always meant to be.”

“You mean the patsy for the apocalypse?” Sam shoots back and the demon frowns.

“You really think it’s that black and white? Don’t you think it’s worth considering when Heaven and Hell agree on something?” The demon smirks. “Ava saw it. She was just like you. Strong. Didn’t worry about those lies about good and evil.”

“Do you know how cliché you sound?”

The demon apparently wasn’t expecting that and draws back in surprise.

“I mean, this is the part where you try and recruit me or whatever, right?” Sam asks, voice dripping with anger and sarcasm. “You dicks just killed my brother. I’m not on your side.”

“But you are a freak,” the demon counters, narrowing her eyes. “There’s no changing that.”

Sam sets his jaw, fury bubbling up inside him. “Fuck off.”

“That can be arranged,” the demon wearing Ava’s face says and smiles before the sound of voices comes from outside the chapel. “Sounds like Daddy’s home. Bet he’d love to talk to you.” Sam braces himself as the demon stands, licking her teeth as she looks down at Sam. “Maybe he’ll persuade you.”

Sam tries to stand, to run, or get ready to fight, or _something_ as the doors of the chapel swing open and Azazel, wearing the same bland meatsuit from the cemetery, walks in. Another demon that has to be Meg tags behind him. Instantly, invisible power slams Sam against the altar and pins him in place. The demon in Ava smirks.

“Heya, Sammy,” Azazel says, grinning. His eyes swim with murky yellow as he approaches. “I’m so glad we can finally talk.”

“Save the speech, I’m not doing whatever it is you want me to do,” Sam declares.

“Everyone always says that. ‘I won’t be part of your evil plan, I’m a good upstanding citizen.’ Blah, blah, blah. But in the end…” A wicked grin spreads over the demon’s face.

“You killed half my family!” Sam cries back.

“I see it as liberating you from the dead weight holding you down,” Azazel replies with a shrug. “Think of it, Sam. All your life they’ve been afraid of you. Lied to you. They tried to keep you in a cage because they knew that if you wanted to, you could destroy all of them.”

Sam purses his lips, trying to look away but unable to move.

“But you know, Sammy, you’ve always known that you’re better than them, that you see things they couldn’t,” Azazel goes on. “Even if you don’t agree now, well, we got nothing but time while we wait for big bro.”

“He won’t break either,” Sam snaps, the thought of Dean’s soul in Hell making him dizzy with horror.

“You know I thought so too.” It’s Meg that speaks, strangely. “I thought I didn’t belong there. Thought the people I killed on earth deserved it, that Rome needed to burn.”

“You look good for your age, gotta say,” the other demon sneers.

“Shut up, Ruby. It took me centuries down there to understand that the world is pain, that all of you are deluding yourselves into thinking there’s anything more than that. The only thing that matters is finding the right master to serve; one that will burn it all to the ground.”

“My brother saw such potential in her,” Azazel says with something like pride. “Called me right down when she finally saw the light, metaphorically speaking of course. He turned her. He’ll turn Dean just the same.”

“No…” Sam whispers.

“Alastair elevated me too,” the other demon – Ruby – says. “Lilith sent me right to him. Took no time at all for me to pick up the knife. To learn the truth.”

“He built all the legends,” Meg agrees. “And even if it takes him a hundred years –  which by the way is less than a year up here, in case you were thinking you’d die before we’re done – he’ll get Dean to pick up that knife.”

“And we’ll get you to pick up yours too,” Azazel smiles. “Metaphorically speaking.”

“Ava will tell you the same story, if you want,” Ruby asks and Sam shakes his head sickly. “Aw, that makes her sad. She knows, better than anyone, what you are, what you can do. You showed her when you left your family for her. And also when you killed her.”

“Please, please, help,” Sam doesn’t realize the litany in his head has made it out until he hears his own whisper.

“We are helping, Sammy,” Azazel says, smooth at tar. “We’re the only ones that can help you now.”

 _Please_ , Sam keeps on in his head, hot tears slipping down his cheeks. _Dean, Mom, Cas, Gabriel, anyone, please help. Please._

 

**Hell**

 

Hell isn’t fire. It’s not tangled chasms of rotting souls or rivers blood. It’s just…emptiness. It’s Dean caught in a web of cold and pain, but what terrifies him most is the void beyond it. The huge, gaping, shadowy _nothing_. He’s yelled himself hoarse, calling for his mom, for Sam, for Bobby. For Cas. None of them can hear him here and they never will. He can taste his own blood as the hooks and chains pull at him, so cold they burn. He doesn’t know if he’s been there hours or days or weeks, but he’s still calling out into the horrifying, shuddering black.

“Did you think Hell was just going to be pain?” The sound isn’t really a voice. It’s a shrieking, grating, burning, lilt that comes from all around Dean.

Everything changes in a cascade of sulfurous smoke and ash and Dean is in new place, something like a dungeon but worse. There’s far away screaming and tools adorn the dark walls, each sharper and more horrifying than the next. Dean runs, trying to find some way to escape. He has a body, or something like it, here and he’ll be damned if he goes down without a fight.

“That’s so…optimistic,” the same voice says, now from a specific point behind Dean in the center of the room. Dean turns, telling himself he can take it, whatever it is. He’s wrong.

The _thing_ is massive, towering above Dean, a carcass of rotten flesh hanging like loose robes over jagged bone. It’s eyes are white and hungry in a face that’s like a skull that’s been stretched and distorted and hardened to points through centuries of fire and pain.

“I’ll break you of that first,” the demon hisses, a scaly tongue darting out to lick at brittle yellow teeth. “Hope always has to be the first thing to go. It has to be cut out. Nice and slow. Shall we begin?”

Dean’s restrained before he can even think to run, clamped to a rack that’s made of something rusted, rough and cold. He struggles frantically against the bonds as he sees something sharp glint in the demon’s bony hand.

“That’s the spirit, I do like a little pep in my toys,” the demon practically coos. “It has been so very long since I’ve had someone so _important_ on my table, by the way; I am _quite_ excited for the time we’ll have together, Dean.”

“Fuck off, ugly,” Dean growls as the demon strokes a blisteringly cold finger down Dean’s cheek and across his bare chest. 

“Now, it’s proper to address your teacher by their name or title,” the demon laughs, finger fiddling with the strap holding down Dean’s hips, then moving lower, almost sensual against Dean’s bare thigh. “You may call me Alastair.”

“Then fuck you, Alastair,” Dean grits out, struggling again.

Alastair tsks and slashes the razor against Dean’s thigh. Dean refuses to scream, biting his lip against the sting. “Oh, this will be fun,” he almost sings. “I’ve been down here almost since it opened up for business; had so millions of souls on my rack. Wicked, weak, pitiful things.” Alastair slices again, and Dean stifles a cry as a livid line of red streaks across his chest. “But it’s so rare to get a customer who doesn’t know they belong here, who has real _heart_. Much more fun to break.”

“I won’t –”

“You will, Dean, you will,” Alastair hums, digging the blade deep into Dean’s stomach, burrowing and slicing until Dean finally screams. “There’s no dying here, no stopping. I'm going to slice you apart piece by piece, bone by bone. You’ll taste your own flesh, you’ll see your own heart, and then I’ll patch you up good as new and we’ll start again. And that’s just the _pain_ ,” Alastair cackles. “I’ll make you see things that would make your nightmares run for the hills. I’ll leave you alone in the dark for what’ll feel like forever. I’ll ruin you and I’ll have you every way I like, and nothing with save you. No one, not in Hell or Earth or Heaven will come until you break. It might take us hundreds of years, but it will happen. And when it does, oh…it will be marvelous, Dean, so utterly marvelous.”

Dean doesn’t respond. He clamps his eyes shut, a few tears escaping down his cheeks. He won’t. If not for himself, for the world. For Mom and Sam and Cas and the people he can keep safe if he just…endures.

“There’s no enduring, Dean, not forever,” Alastair purrs, and Dean hates that even his thoughts are fair game for this thing. He’s never felt so completely and utterly alone, so far from hope or anything remotely good or holy. But he can remember it. Alastair hasn’t cut that out of him yet.

“We’ll see,” Dean says

Alastair pushes the blade deeper, blood squelching around his claws and Dean focuses everything he has on the memory of his mother smiling at him in the sun. Bobby giving him Baby’s keys. Sam running to him across the yard. His father smiling in an improvised Santa suit. Cas holding him, touching him like he’s something precious as they rut like teenagers in Baby’s back seat. _Cas._

It’s not a prayer. Prayer has no place here. But it is faith.

And somehow, it makes the pain stop.

Dean dares to open his eyes and look down at the flayed mess of his body. Just the sight alone should make him scream, and it should hurt more than anything he could imagine. But he feels nothing.

“How are you doing that?” Alastair demands, as Dean blinks and sees his body mended. He sits upright, completely free. “That’s…no…”

The distant screaming from beyond Alastair’s walls is growing louder, Dean realizes. There is light flashing thorough cracks, light as familiar as a dream. He feels something, something that might have been pain if it wasn’t so warm, or right; against his shoulder, where Cas had touched him with such reverence what feels like ages before. He can still feel Cas’s palm burning with heat. When he looks down he’s shocked to see red welts rising on his skin like a brand in the shape of a handprint.

Alastair sees it too. Dean didn’t know something that looked so terrifying could look terrified. “This is impossible!” the demon screams, grabbing Dean and slashing at him with a huge, vicious blade that barely grazes him. “Your soul is _ours_!”

“His soul is mine.” Cas’s voice, his real voice, is like the thunder of waves and the howl of a storm and the ringing of a thousand bells all at once. It shatters the walls, and Dean’s kind of glad he’s dead at the moment because he’s sure even the glimpse he gets of Cas’s huge, shining, true self would kill him. And behind that is something even brighter, bigger, like Cas is the moon and the other is the sun.

Alastair screams, but it’s a small, pitiful noise compared to the cosmic roar around them, even as Castiel condenses and resolves himself into Jimmy Novak’s form, still glowing with wrath and power.

He stands before Dean, impossible and implacable, oblivious to Alastair and the hordes of demons that are swirling in the distance, and stakes his claim.

 

**Sioux Falls**

 

“What’s happening?” Mary demands of the one angel remaining in her house as the silence goes on. They’re in the kitchen, away from the body and the blood. Mary can barely move, frozen in place as Bobby and Rufus rush for weapons and Balthazar just stands there with his eyes closed, looking sick. “What are you doing?”

“I’m listening,” the angel snaps, eyes flying open and flaring with brightness for a second. “I’m trying to confirm if what that imp said is true, but I seem to be cut off from the home office.”

“What does that _mean_?”

“Not only can I not heal, I can’t her the other angels speaking or planning,” Balthazar answers, frustration in his voice.

“What about Gabriel and Cas?”

“Oh, they are far out of range, I think,” Balthazar says darkly. He looks to Mary, eyes apologetic before his brows knit and he raises a hand to his head. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“You can hear them?” Mary asks her heart leaping.

“No, better,” Balthazar grins, as Bobby and Rufus join them, armed to the teeth.

“What is it?” Rufus asks.

“Sam,” Balthazar says and Mary almost leaps with relief. “Sam is praying.”

“Does that mean…” Mary begins.

“I can get us to him, yes,” Balthazar confirms.

“That’s nice and all, but we got a whole town that’s gonna be blown off the map soon,” Bobby argues. “Are we just gonna leave them here?”

“I’ll take care of the civilians, you gotta save your boy,” Rufus says and the relief Mary feels doubles.

“Go to the sheriff’s, find Jody Mills, she’s your best shot at anyone believing you,” Mary orders.

“That’s after you call in the bomb threat or whatever you need to get people moving,” Bobby adds.

“I am getting too old for this shit,” Rufus mutters but nods and heads out the door.

“I won’t be able to get right to him, wherever he is has some warding as Azazel and Lilith aren’t idiots, but it’s not very good.”

“Just get us to him,” Bobby commands.

Mary finally dares to look over her shoulder at where Dean’s body lies beneath a threadbare old blanket.

“What about…if they destroy the town…”

“His body is the last thing he has to worry about, I assure you,” Balthazar says.

Mary nods unsurely, taking the Colt from Bobby when it’s offered. “Take me to my son.”

 

**?**

 

Castiel is watching Dean, watching himself. They are in a dark room full of metal and pipes and chains. One of the pipes is leaking, a slow drip. Dean, the one holding a funnel of salt and a blade, does not know that. The demon in the devil’s trap does.

It’s all very strange.

“Something caught in my throat. I think it's my throat,” Alastair chokes, salt and blood filling his mouth.

“Well, strap in, ’cause I'm just starting to have fun,” Dean, the Dean of this world (memory? reality?) growls and turns back to the cart full of implements of torture.

“What the fuck?” Castiel’s Dean whispers from where he stands next to Castiel, eyes wide. “What are you…we doing?”

“He can’t hear you,” Castiel says and his Dean spins to him.

“ _Cas_?” Dean says in awe. “What is-”

“You know, it was supposed to be your father,” Alastair mumbles, one Dean turns and the other stiffens.

“This is a memory,” Castiel tells Dean quietly, coming to stand beside him as he watches the scene unfold. “I was outside. Listening.”

“I don’t remember this,” his Dean says uneasily.

“You wouldn’t. It didn’t happen in the reality you know,” Castiel explains and Dean shakes his head.

“Who’s the demon?”

“Alastair,” Castiel answers.

“Okay, well, I guess that’s not so bad…”

“He was supposed to bring it on. But, in the end, it was you,” Alastair goes on and both Deans go pale.

“Bring what on?” the other Dean asks.

“Oh, every night, the same offer, remember? Same as your father,” Alastair lilts.

“Why’s he talking about my dad, Cas, what the hell is this?” the real Dean demands, grabbing Castiel and forcing him to look at him. “What the fuck kind of _other reality_ are you showing me?”

“I’m not really sure I’m showing you,” Castiel replies. “The whole situation is extremely confusing. Right now in Hell I’m touching your soul, and you’re seeing things within my grace and essence.”

“Excuse me?”

“And finally you said, ‘sign me up.’ Oh, the first time you picked up my razor, the first time you sliced into that weeping bitch...” Alastair is practically singing and it makes Castiel ill – a feeling he’s surprised to encounter as a projection in a memory – to see both Deans turn to the monster spread out on the iron star. “That was the first seal.”

“You’re saying in some other universe, I _also_ went to hell,” his Dean whispers, as the other protests.

“You sold your soul to bring back Sam from the dead. And I saved you too late,” Castiel confirms. The horror on his Dean’s face is much more evident than the slowly dawning understanding on the other’s.

“And it is written that the first seal shall be broken when a righteous man sheds blood in hell. As he breaks, so shall it break,” Alastair recites, the words thick and heavy in the air.  
  
“Why was he talking about my dad?” his Dean asks, turning to fix Castiel with angry, confused eyes.

“Many things were different in this world,” Castiel replies and the scene washes away to a void of featureless blue-gray.

“ _Were_?” Dean demands. “Cas, what the fuck is going on? How…is this some new weird Hell torture? Are you even –”

“I’m real, Dean,” Castiel assures him and looks him over. His Dean is projected in a simple tee shirt and jeans. Castiel similarly is wearing the same tee shirt and jeans he was back in the mortal plane. Curious. “Though, like I said, we are in Hell.”

“Yeah and you’re touching my soul. Which means _what_?”

“Hell can’t have you, they couldn’t keep me from you.”

The mist around them swirls into a tableau of blood-wet stone and cruel steel broken by seared flesh and bone. There are screams and howls of pain all around, mixed with the empty cold laughter of demons.

“Cas…”

“It’s just a memory, Dean,” Castiel assures him.

“Of _Hell_?”

“Watch.”

Castiel can see the other members of the garrison fighting in the distance, the brilliant light of their grace flashing against black smoke and withered bones of demons too old and powerful to even have names.  He watches them fall, expire. The soul they have come for looks up at the lights, looks up from his work on the rack with Alastair beside him.

“Is that…” the Dean beside Castiel asks in horror as he makes out his own burnt, bloody features.

“You. The first time I met you.”

There is a blade in this Dean’s hand and a suffering soul on the rack beside him. Alastair hisses and retreats as Castiel descends in full glory, wings spread wide and eyes burning with grace and power.

“Rise,” is the only word he speak as he lays his hand on Dean, brands his very soul with his claim. His light fills the pit and the scene fades, but not to haze, to a barn in Illinois.

“You never remembered that,” Castiel remarks wistfully, watching himself stride in a new vessel towards the doors and will them open. “This was always your first memory of me.”

Beside him Dean winces at the shotgun blasts and pops of the lights exploding above Castiel, then stares in confusion as he watches an older, darker version of himself plunge a knife straight into Castiel’s heart.

“Who are you?” the other Dean asks.

“I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.”

“You talk like a bible,” his Dean mutters next to him and Castiel smiles.

“I learned a lot from you.”

The vision fades again, to a gilded room, where Dean is yelling at Castiel furiously.

“It's Armageddon, Cas. You need a bigger word than “sorry!’” the other Dean bellows and Castiel sees himself flinch.

“Try to understand - this is long foretold," he watches himself say. "This is your...” 

“Destiny? Don't give me that ‘holy’ crap. Destiny, God’s plan... It's all a bunch of lies, you poor, stupid son of a bitch! It's just a way for your bosses to keep me and keep you in line!”

“Well, I ain’t wrong,” his Dean murmurs.

“You know what's real? People, families. That's real. And you're gonna watch them all burn?” the other Dean goes on.

“What is so worth saving?” his former self asks. “I see nothing but pain here. I see inside you. I see your guilt, your anger, confusion. In paradise, all is forgiven. You'll be at peace. Even with Sam.”

“You can take your peace...and shove it up your lily-white ass. ’Cause I'll take the pain and the guilt. I'll even take Sam as is. It's a lot better than being some Stepford bitch in paradise. This is simple, Cas! No more crap about being a good soldier. There is a right and there is a wrong here, and you know it.” His old self turns away and Dean wrenches him back. “Look at me! You know it! You were gonna help me once, weren't you? You were gonna warn me about all this, before they dragged you back to bible camp. Help me; now. Please.”

“Lemme guess, you did?” his Dean asks as he watches himself stare the other Castiel down.

“I did,” Castiel replies with a sad smile.

“And?”

The room fades back to a haze then briefly onto a suburban street in autumn where Castiel stands alone.

“It didn’t help,” Castiel says as that memory fades to a him facing the wrath of an archangel and exploding into a fine spray of blood and viscera in a dirty kitchen.

“Jesus!” his Dean exclaims, startling.

“I was fine. And you were worth dying for. Not just what you taught me, about freedom, or the value of humanity. You. You made me believe.”

Dean gapes at him as the scene washes into an alley where the two of them scramble out the backdoor of a house of ill repute, laughing. “Cas, what the hell? Is this some sort of mirror universe greatest hits?”

“I came for you in Hell, Dean, with only Gabriel to aid me taking back your soul. I think I have to do a bit of work to fight for you,” Castiel muses.

“That makes zero sense.”

“I’m remembering some of the times I loved you, I think,” Castiel says with a shrug and Dean looks cowed. The vision flashes to a park bench, then to a decrepit house. To motels and the Impala. To a cemetery where Castiel again is splattered into nothing then reformed.

“How often does that fucking happen?!” Dean yelps then turns to see himself, battered and broken, bowed over the spot where Hell just opened up. “What is this one, Cas? What happened?”

“You beat it. The apocalypse,” Castiel tells him. “Lucifer was released from the cage, and Sam let him in. He was there, ready to fight Michael…”

“You mean me?”

“Your brother, actually. Half. John Winchester’s other son,” Castiel explains. “Born after you of course.”

“ _What_?”

“I temporarily destroyed him with holy fire, it was strangely satisfying,” Castiel goes on. “It gave you enough time to get to Sam. And he broke free of Lucifer’s control long enough to pull them into the cage. Michael too.”

“Sam…threw himself into Hell…” Dean asks in disbelief, looking back at himself as the other Castiel appears beside him in the memory and Dean looks up, completely broken.

“You couldn’t bear that, nor could I,” Castiel confesses as he watches himself heal Dean, erasing the scar of his claim from Dean’s body but not his soul. “After this I went back to Hell, assaulted the cage and pulled Sam out…at least part of him.”

“Part?”

“His soul stayed, tortured in hell for centuries, you had to ask Death himself to retrieve it.” The scene fades back to that suburban street and Cas feels anther pang of guilt and pain.

“Now you’re just making shit up,” Dean murmurs.

“I wish,” Castiel whispers. “Everything went wrong after that. I tried to return to Heaven and teach my brothers and sisters to be free, but Raphael, he wanted to reopen the cage, free Lucifer and Michael again and finish the story as written.”

“You mean end the world.”

“And kill you.” Castiel watches as memories of battles flash before them before they return to the street and this time they can see why Castiel is there, invisible, watching Dean rake leaves, unaware. “I was fighting to save you, but I couldn’t bear burdening you again, when you had something you wanted.”

“I don’t get it,” Dean whispers. “Where’s Mom? You said Dad…”

“Dead. At this point you were living with a woman and her son, Lisa and Ben. You cared for them deeply,” Castiel replies, the jealousy and regret and he had felt only vaguely then now stinging like a knife.

“What about us? I mean we…” the real Dean nudges Castiel to look at him, face aghast. “You said you loved me but…were we…”

“No, not here,” Castiel answers, wry and regretful. “I knew, though I pretended not to. I knew what I felt. I loved you for a very long time. But you…there was too much in the way. If you realized it, it was far too late.”

The vision flashes to Castiel caught in a ring of holy fire, Dean staring at him with utter heartbreak and betrayal written across his face before disappearing.

“What did you do?” his Dean demands and they’re back on that street, but a new presence has arrived. “Crowley?”

“I want to discuss a simple business transaction. That's all,” Crowley is saying. The words don’t matter much.

“He was the King of Hell, we were both fighting for power, he made me an offer,” Castiel explains, shame filling him. “I turned away from asking you for help and made a deal with the devil instead.”

“How’d that turn out?” Dean asks, sour and cold, and Castiel looks down.

“Horribly.” He doesn’t need to look up to know what Dean sees. “We went looking for Purgatory. For the power of the souls there. You found out, eventually, tried to stop me…and so I thought I had to stop you.” He hears another Dean cry out and shuts his eyes. “I broke down the wall keeping Sam from the memories his soul carried from Hell. I betrayed my friends.” He hears Balthazar gasp his name as he kills him. “I even betrayed Crowley. But it worked, for a moment I thought it worked. I absorbed all those souls, slaughtered Raphael.” Another wet splat and a gasp. “And I thought I could go farther.”

“I am your God now,” he hears himself declare and the guilt and shame are suffocating.

“You became _God_?” his Dean asks in horror. “Is that how you…how _this_ …”

“I did terrible things,” Castiel mutters, as the shadows of slaughter play out before them. “I killed so many of my brothers, humans too…I did so much wrong before I realized there was something else, something dark inside me. I tried to undo it. I tried…”

He looks up to see the portal to purgatory reopening, runes burning against dirty tile. Hears himself speak what he thought – _knew_ – would be his last words. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

“I failed. They hung on inside me, they were too strong.” Castiel watches himself rise.

“What did?” Dean asks in horror as he watches that doomed Castiel stumble towards a lake, exploding with black from within that could not be contained.

“Leviathan. Ancient monster from Purgatory. I released them back into the world…” he stops himself as he watches his body sink into the water, melting into nothing, leaving just a coat behind before the world around them dissolves too, back into fuzzy, stagnant blue. “I thought I would die regretting that,” he goes on. “You asked me once what happens to angels when they die.”

Before them, the other Castiel fades back into existence, complete with trench coat and crooked tie, beside them in the haze.

“It turns out I know.”

“Heya, little bro,” a voice crows from behind them and they turn to see Gabriel waiting with a smirk.

 

**Ilchester, Maryland**

 

“So what? Are we just gonna sit here until you bore me into going evil,” Sam asks Ruby, who is looking at him curiously from where she sits in one of the remaining pews of the chapel. Meg is a bit further off, glaring. Azazel leans against a wall, fiddling with his nails.

“We could start with the torture, if you’re impatient,” Meg shoots back.

“Now, now, sweetheart, we don’t want to scare the boy,” Azazel says with the same easy smile he always seems to wear. “You always catch more flies with honey, I say.”

“I don’t think he wants our honey,” Ruby mutters and Azazel pointedly rolls his eyes.

“Depends on the honey. I bet he’d love a chance to get some good old fashioned revenge,” Azazel says and Sam tries to squirm again. “And lucky for us we have just a choice selection.”

“What are you talking about?” Meg demands, straightening up and looking confused.

“Who do you wanna kill, Sammy?” Azazel asks, clapping his hands together and approaching. “Now, you already got Ava pretty good, but Ruby here’s a pretty wicked little bitch too, so that’s a good option. Meg, though…she killed your granddad, did terrible things to that other little hunter you like so much…”

“What are you doing?” Meg demands while Ruby stares in shock.

“Heck, I could bring in Crowley,” Azazel goes on. “Limey bastard is just itching to betray us, I’m sure, and he did kill your brother.”

“Yeah I vote for that!” Ruby snaps.

“How about you?” Sam says and Azazel grins.

“Sorry, kiddo, perks of being the boss. But, how about this…” The demon draws a jagged knife from inside his coats and draws it across his palm. “Take a little taste here and I’ll let you try.”

Meg and Ruby give slightly relieved smirks and Sam clamps his mouth shut.

“Come on, Sammy,” Azazel purrs, coming so close that Sam can smell the tang of his blood. “All it takes is a taste and we’ll open up a whole new world for you.”

“Pardon me.”

The three demons turn from Sam to glare at the fourth that has appeared behind them. Rage surges in Sam when he realizes it’s Crowley.

“What?” Azazel barks, clearly annoyed.

“Just thought you should know that we are currently under attack by two very pissed off hunters and an angel,” Crowley replies casually.

“I thought that moron was taken care of!” Meg cries.

“Oh, if you mean Castiel then no, he’s been back in action for hours now, I must have forgotten to tell you,” Crowley replies with clear relish. Azazel advances on him, brandishing the knife he still holds. “But our company now is a _different_ angel, just so we’re clear. I think Cas is off retrieving Dean’s soul from hell as we speak.”

“That’s impossible!” Ruby screams.

“Might be, but he does have an archangel helping,” Crowley says with a shrug. “Oh, and a prior claim on the soul. Don’t know how I missed that when I made the deal, but spilled milk, no tears, you know the drill.”

“You lying, disloyal bastard,” Meg growls. “I knew…” her words are cut off by the chapel door bursting open to reveal Balthazar, eyes blazing with light, Mom and Bobby right behind.

“Cookie for you then,” Crowley tells her, glancing at Sam, who feels the power holding him in place disappear.

“Sam!” his mother yells as he springs up. For a second he can see the relief in her face before Meg and Azazel rush towards her and engage.

“Mom!” Sam screams as Azazel hauls her out of the room. Ruby pounces on him, Ava’s stolen face contorted in rage. She pulls out a knife etched in symbols with a handle that looks like an antler and holds it to Sam’s throat.

“Anyone moves and he dies!” Ruby screams.

“Actually I was going to say the same about you.” The pressure of the blade on Sam’s throat disappears as Balthazar yanks Ruby back by the hair. Sam spins to face them, the demon struggling in Balthazar’s grasp, eye black.  

Meg shrugs where she has Bobby by the throat. “Kill her for all we care.”

The look of horrified betrayal on Ava’s face, the black washing from her eyes, doesn’t seem like something a demon should be capable of.

“Ava?” Sam asks in horror.

“Sam…” Ava whispers before plunging the knife she still holds into her own heart. Sam hears the demon inside the body scream as the same time he lets out his own yell of protest before the body hits the floor.

“Well, that was something,” Balthazar says as a commotion rises outside the door. “You might need that,” he adds, nodding to the knife then raising his hand as a cadre of demons arrives at the door. Mom is nowhere in sight.

 

**????????**

 

“Great, you again,” Dean grumbles at Gabriel, completely out of patience with whatever walkabout-acid trip-depression fest he’s found himself stuck in. Annoyingly, Gabriel walks _through_ him towards the other Castiel. The one in the trench coat who apparently just died releasing some primeval monsters onto the world after trying to be God. Dean’s not sure he’s a fan of this Castiel.

“This is a memory too,” Dean’s Cas, standing beside him in a Zeppelin tee (Icarus, of fucking course) and jeans says sadly.

“You keep saying that but, Cas, I don’t get it.”

“You will,” Cas mutters. “It took me a while too.”

Dean wants to scream, because whatever this world is that Cas is remembering (what the fuck?), it really sucks.

“Gabriel?” Trench Coat Cas asks, looking scared and confused. “What’s going on? I was…Is this a trick?”

“Oh, Brother do I wish,” Gabriel, or the memory of him, replies, snide and full of himself; so, completely normal. “This is our sweet hereafter.” Castiel blinks and Gabriel heaves a sigh. “You’re dead. I’m dead. All the other angels that pass through here are dead.”

“Pass through?” Other Castiel asks.

“Yeah, guess Dad was doing that whole redistribution of energy thing. Most of the visitors don’t stay long. Move on to rebirth as a ginseng leaf or something. Some of us end up stuck though,” Gabriel explains with clear bitterness as he holds out his arms. “Welcome to Limbo.”

“Limbo?” Castiel repeats and Gabriel gives a grim nod. “Why can’t you move on?”

“The part where I’m pissed about getting killed by my bag of dicks brother for _nothing_ might have something to do with it,” Gabriel snarls back.

“What? Catch me up here, Cas,” Dean whispers, though he knows he doesn’t have to.

“Gabriel chose to stand with humanity against Lucifer and heaven. You and Sam convinced him,” real Cas explains. “It ended poorly.”

“You allowed us to trap Lucifer in the cage again…” other Castiel argues.

Gabriel rolls his eyes and staggers back. “Yeah, and then _you_ let out something worse!”

Castiel doesn’t argue, just looks away with an expression of shame. “How do you…”

“Oh, I’ve chatted with a lot of the angels that have popped through here in the last year or two, Cas,” Gabriel replies, voice rough with accusation. “And boy howdy have there been a _lot_.”

“I didn’t…”

“Don’t make excuses! You decimated heaven!” Gabriel yells. “And for what? So you could fuck over the world with _Crowley_?”

“I had to stop Raphael!” Castiel roars back, meeting Gabriel’s eyes again and it actually scares Dean a bit. “I _had_ to protect humanity.”

“You had to protect Dean Winchester.”

Castiel, Gabriel and Dean all turn at the new voice. Dean’s eye widen in surprise.

“Hello, Castiel,” Anna – an older, scarier, angrier Anna - says, her voice tight and dark. All the fight goes out of other Castiel at once. “I’ve been waiting a long time for you to join us.”

“She’s dead too?” Dean asks his Cas in horror.

“She died trying to travel through time to kill your parents, make it so you were never born,” Cas explains like he’s forecasting the weather. “Michael destroyed her for that.”

“Anna, I have no words to…” other Castiel begins.

“Don’t even try, Castiel,” Anna snaps. “We’ve always been on the wrong sides of each other, whenever I rebelled, you obeyed. Vice versa. Now we’re finally even.”

“You can imagine what a peach Anna’s been to hang with for the last few…whatever it’s been,” Gabriel says as he and Anna exchange glares. “I almost wanna thank you for offing your other friend, at least he’s fun.”

On cue Castiel turns to see Balthazar emerges from the mist. This one isn’t a surprise to Dean. He saw the memory of Balthazar taking sides with him, Bobby and Sam, and getting a knife in the back from Castiel for his trouble.

“You know, I’ve been wondering if it was possible to punch another angel in their smug face in this horrid place. I guess I’m going to find out,” Balthazar says. Castiel doesn’t even make an attempt to block as the other angel swings and his fist passes right through Castiel. “Damn.”

“If I could take it back…” Castiel mutters, hanging his head.

“You would do the same thing, or worse, if you thought it was worth it,” Balthazar spits.

“He’s right,” Anna says. “You have no loyalty, no cause, no ideals beyond _him_.”

“That’s not true,” Castiel protests weakly. “I believe in what he taught me.”

“Sounds like chicken and an egg bullshit to me,” Gabriel says, though he doesn’t have the same fury in his voice as Anna. “Though maybe I get that whole dying for love thing. Still doesn’t make any of us less dead.”

“Or your precious Dean any less screwed,” Balthazar adds with a hint of glee. “The Leviathan are going to gobble up the world, him included, so…bravo for a job well fucked up.”

The haze of the memory thickens again and the scene of the angels fades and refocuses, their positions shifted and their faces more bored and depressed.

 “I’m guessing no one moved on,” Dean comments and sees his Cas nod from the corner of his eye. 

“They were right to hate me. And I was prepared to take my penance there,” Cas says quietly beside Dean. “I don’t know how long we lingered. But then…”

 _Cas_. Dean is more than surprised to hear a rough, slurred version of his own voice out of nowhere. Other Castiel looks up, just as shocked. _Cas, I know you can’t hear me but…fuck. Things are bad. Things are real bad. Sam’s a mess – seeing Lucifer every waking minute…_

“How…” other Castiel asks out loud.

“What’s going on?” Gabriel asks curiously, obviously unable to hear the voice.

“Dean,” Castiel answers quietly.

“Of course _Dean_ ,” Balthazar sighs.

“I can hear him praying,” Castiel whispers. Dean can barely take the look of heartbreak and awe on that other Castiel’s face. It makes him take his own Cas’s hand out of instinct.

 _I miss you, man. Everything is going to hell. Fucking Levis cloned me and Sam, went on a rampage, we had to ditch everything, even Baby. Then we got a lead on their head honcho and…_ Dean can’t believe the grief that’s breaking through his own voice. _They got Bobby, Cas,_ _bullet to the head. The doctors say he…_

“Bobby?” Dean asks aloud, feeling sick and beside him Cas bows his head.

“All you had left was Sam, and you were losing him too,” Cas confirms and Dean’s not surprised to feel a tear wash down his cheek. “And I could hear you, even here.”

“How is that possible?” Anna asks, grabbing Dean’s attention back and other Castiel’s too. “We’re in another realm, how can you hear that stupid, stubborn ape?”

“Maybe things work different when you’ve got a tag on said ape’s soul,” Gabriel says, looking at Castiel thoughtfully.

“I have claims on a few souls left –” Balthazar gets an accusatory glare for that, Dean has no idea why. “And I can’t hear them." His voice fades as he stares at Castiel with something like sympathy. “Then again I never loved any of them.”

“Never knew you were such a romantic,” Anna mutters. Dean knows Balthazar is right though. He can see it on memory Castiel’s face. He can feel it. “Must go both ways, to be so strong,” Anna adds. “Too bad you’re only finding out now.”

“No, this is good!” Gabriel exclaim and advances on Castiel.

“Excuse me?” Balthazar drawls, eyebrow raised.

“If we have a connection to the world, that means we can get to it!” Gabriel says, eyes wide and fervent. “We can ride this sweet wave of forbidden love all the way out of here.”

“Into a world getting eaten by Leviathan where we have no vessels and even less power?” Anna argues, unimpressed.

“We wouldn’t have to go back to that world,” Castiel says slowly, locking eyes with Gabriel.

“We take a clue from little orphan Annie here and go into the past. Yeah,” Gabriel replies with a dawning smile. “If Cas here has a link to good old Dean, between the four of us we have just enough remnants of grace we can follow that to wherever we want in time.”

“And change it,” Castiel says slowly and Dean thinks he’s finally starting to understand.

“The angels won’t take it lightly if you try to get in the way of their plans, trust me,” Anna sneers.

“Or change things, remember? We’ve been through this, Cassie,” Balthazar counters.

“You mean like unsinking the Titanic?” Castiel asks back and Dean opens his mouth to ask more questions, because _what_?

“So we go small, simple,” Gabriel argues. “We just need to figure out the right thing to tweak to…”

“To prevent the apocalypse? To change what Dad had been planning since Lucifer first stepped out of line? Do you remember how hard it was the first time? How badly it failed?” Balthazar finishes and yeah, when he puts it that way it sounds sort of nuts but Castiel has his eyes closed, face a mask of consideration and regret.

The vision of Limbo slides into another, very different scene. An empty field at night. The Impala sits, parked under the stars and Dean can hear snoring he’d recognize anywhere coming from the back seat. Sam. And there’s him and Castiel, still wearing that damn trench coat, sitting on the hood, looking up at the sky. The night air is still summer-warm, full of the sound of crickets and a gentle breeze stirs the grass around them.

“Still can’t believe Balthazar fucked with all of history cause he hated one movie,” Dean watches his other self say.

It’s a weird, fun house mirror sort of thing, looking at this other version of himself. He’s older, rougher and there’s just something about him that…hurts. It’s like a wound that hasn’t healed or a bone that wasn’t set right. Dean never knew he would take feeling sorry for himself so literally, but man, there’s something broken in this guy.

“Well, he is capricious,” other Castiel says and Dean knows he’s lying. There’s a story there but he’s pretty sure that’s not the point of this memory. Maybe the point is how both Castiels are looking at this Dean. Like they’d take on the whole universe just for him. Like they already did and it doesn’t matter that he’ll never know. “What would you change?” Castiel asks, and the other Dean raises an eyebrow as he takes a long sip of beer.

“Come again?”

“If you could change something, in your life, what would it be?”

“I don’t know why I asked that,” his Cas comments. “I thought you’d say selling your soul for Sam, or going to Hell. I should have known better.”

“That’s easy,” the Dean on the car says. “Mom. I’d save Mom.”

Dean’s feels the grief and regret inside him like a small explosion. He knew, somehow, from the very start of this…whatever it is…that something essential and important was missing from this world. If Dad lived and went to Hell and had another kid and died bloody, he had to have lost something to fall that far.

“You think that would change things?” other Castiel asks, earnest and curious.

“I mean I already got a taste, once, when that djinn got me a few years ago…but that was just a dream. Happened before we went back and I learned she was a hunter,” Dean replies. “But even knowing now – how it happened, what she knew - God, I’d give anything to have her back. To save her.”

“What about your father?”

“My father was good man, in his heart he was…But he screwed things up with Sammy and me, even I see that now,” Dean listens to himself say. “He trained us like soldiers in a crusade he barely understood. Growing up like that on the road? Hunting before we hit high school? No home, no normal? It fucked us up. This job, this life…it’s cost us so much. So many people. But she’s the one I’d save. And I just gotta believe that if she’d had the chance maybe…Maybe things would be different.”

Dean watches himself look at the other Castiel, a long, quiet look that speaks volumes. He gets it now, what Mom and Sam were teasing him and Cas about, because everything in that look is clear. And that Castiel has to see it, has to know that he’s not the only one that would tear it all down for someone.

The other Dean looks at Castiel like he’s the only light left in the world, and hell, he’s probably right, given all Dean knows about this shitshow of a universe. And Castiel looks at him the exact same way; like Dean is hope.

“Maybe things can be different here, one day,” Castiel murmurs. The other Dean shakes his head, but doesn’t look away.

“Maybe,” he whispers, barely louder than the summer breeze, and leans a bit closer.

A loud snort startles the two and they break the gaze before anyone can make a move, and the moment is gone.

“But, yeah, that’s what I’d change, no question,” Dean says, gruffer and Castiel nods. “Even if it cost me Dad again, I’d save her.”

The two lapse into silence and Dean can feel more tears on his cheek, surprisingly real and damp in the memory of warm country air.

“She was supposed to be the one that died that night, in the nursery,” Dean whispers and his Cas nods. “Dad became a hunter? Raised us alone?” Another nod. “What about Grandpa?”

“He died before you were born in this world, a small quirk of other meddling with time that didn’t happen in your reality,” Cas answers and Dean shakes his head. “But because that hasn’t or won’t happen yet in our reality, he lived.”

“What about Ellen and Jo? Ash? Rufus?” The darkness in Cas’s expression is answer enough. “All of them? Bobby too?” Cas gives a final nod as the memory swirls back to Limbo.

“I know what to change,” memory Castiel declares, face set. “Mary Winchester. The night Azazel infected Sam. If I can get to Dean, wake him up…he could save his mother. That would change everything for them.”

“Are you sure?” Anna asks. “Trading out one hunter raising them for another doesn’t seem like much.”

“I’m sure,” Castiel says, eyes grim and determined.

“Then we’ll get you back,” Gabriel agrees, then looks to Anna and Balthazar. “Now, you small fries won’t remember any of this, but since your power’s coming along for the ride we can maybe get a message to you too.”

“Which will be?” Anna asks dubiously.

“You’re gonna hate this, but I’m thinking ‘help Cas,’” Gabriel replies.

“Will _I_ remember?” Castiel asks, looking worried for the first time.

Gabriel raises his arms and shrugs. “Probably not at first, or maybe at all. But if I know you, you’ll do the most important thing and that’s protect the Winchesters. And if this goes right, _I_ will remember. Perks of being an archangel.”

“And?” Balthazar asks.

“And I can head this shit off at the pass. Hide the Winchesters from the dick brigade, hell, I bet I can convince Kali to help me off the fates if they try and interfere! Easy peasy!”

“There is nothing about this that is easy,” Castiel grumbles. “Or…peasy.”

Dean and Gabriel both roll their eyes.

“Let’s just…do this, okay, while your sweetheart is still on the line. Everyone concentrate on the message, alright,” Gabriel orders as they take hands.

Dean watches in wonder as the angels take on a faint glow, the barest outlines of their massive true forms towering in the haze above them. Gabriel’s is the brightest by far, and he holds eye contact with memory Castiel across their circle.

“Reach out, Cas. Remember,” the archangel orders, grace beginning to swirl in a small tornado around them. “Do what you always do – do it for him.”

What Dean witnesses next is probably beyond what a weak human brain is ever supposed to see. He sees the stars and the cosmos and light rippling across _time_ and even without a body it hurts to look or try to comprehend the vastness of it all. He sees stars and grace and the earth and eyes opening and the smallest pinpricks of light in darkness as the world – no, the fucking _whole of creation_ rewinds before his eye.

He sees the house in Lawrence.

He sees something huge and bright shift its implacable focus to a small child’s room.

 _Dean_.

An angel speaks his name and Dean sees the ripples as his own eyes open and time and the whole universe rewrites itself. 

The vision fades to black and in the dank reaches of Hell, Dean’s eyes open again to the same angel pulling his soul free from anything left holding it back.

There’s a battle still raging around them, as Gabriel, resplendent in glory, holds Alastair and his brethren at bay. It doesn’t matter much. Cas is standing with him in Hell in a dumb tee shirt and Dean knows that right now, he is safe.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean whispers and the angel smiles in relief, his palm still burning against Dean’s shoulder.

“Hello, Dean.”

“It wasn’t God. It was you,” Dean says, still in awe and, yeah, he’s gonna need an explainer eventually too. But he gets the broad strokes. “You did it. You saved her. You saved everyone.”

“I did it for you,” Cas replies like it’s the simplest thing. “I’m sorry it didn’t go quite as planned.”

“We still got time,” Dean tells him.

“Yeah, about that,” Gabriel thunders around them before coalescing back to his normal form. “Tearful reunion later, escaping the pit now?”

“That seems prudent,” Cas says.

A bloodcurdling cry makes Dean turn to see what remains of Alastair limping towards them, bleeding smoke, white eyes insane with rage.

“I even saved you a good one,” Gabriel says and a silver angel’s blade is thrust into Dean’s hands as Alastair lurches into range.

“Thanks,” Dean smirks as he drives the weapon up. The demon explodes in fire and screams above him before vanishing. “What now?”

“Now we shag ass home before the next wave of ugly, and before Cassie here poofs into nothing,” Gabriel replies with a smile. He takes Cas and Dean’s wrists and the sound of a half dozen wings envelops them as Hell fades away.

The room they emerge in is very much not what Dean was expecting. Quiet, orderly and sterile. It’s an office maybe?

“Okay, apparently I flew too high…” Gabriel says slowly and his tone is not comforting.

“You didn’t expect us to stop you? I always thought you were smarter than that, Brother.” They turn to see three…people? Angels more likely and Dean has a very uncomfortable idea of where they are.

“Hi, Michael,” Gabriel sighs.


	21. A Hard Day's Night

**Ilchester, Maryland**

 

Mary can hear screaming from the chapel as Azazel drags her away, his face more annoyed than angry but still terrifying. She struggles, trying to aim the Colt, but the demon simply knocks it away.

“Now, honey, let’s not bother with that,” Azazel says, voice irritated. “I’m not going to try to kill you, so you can pay me the same courtesy.”

“Why not?” Mary demands as the demon throws her down at the foot a statue that looks to be weeping blood. Great.

“Because with Sammy it’s gonna take some work to get him in line and I’d like mommy around as an ace in the hole,” Azazel explains, cruel laughter in his voice. “And I mean that literally. I’m gonna find someplace deep and dark to keep you until I need you. I’ll send someone good in to break you, keep you…occupied. So don’t worry about being bored.”

A heavy sigh sounds from the space behind Azazel and he spins to see Crowley looking as bored and smug as always behind him. “You know I like that idea in theory. Going to have to hang on to it,” the crossroad demon remarks, just loud enough to cover up the sound of the Colt sliding across the floor into Mary’s hand.

“Big mistake, showing your traitorous face here again, Fergus,” Azazel snaps before rounding back on Mary. She savors the look of shock on his face as he stares down the barrel of the Colt for half a second before she shoots.

Watching as the thing that killed her mother, her husband, that tried to destroy her family, that wanted to use her sons to end the world flicker and burn out inside his meatsuit is one of the most satisfying things Mary’s ever seen. As the empty husk of a body flops to the ground, Mary feels a weight she’s carried for thirty years coming off her shoulders.

 “You know, I was expecting a cute punchline,” Crowley remarks, toeing the corpse with disinterest. “‘That was for my husband, you bastard,’ something along those lines.”

“That one was for me,” Mary replies and Crowley gives a smile before she re-cocks the gun and aims it at his head. He doesn’t even flinch. “This one is for my son.”

“You mean the one who was just liberated from Hell, as promised by yours truly, only moments ago?”

Mary’s trigger finger freezes. On the one hand this is the demon that took her son’s life…on the other he just saved hers. “What? Where….”

“I truly don’t know. I only just got the message from the crew downstairs, something along the lines of ‘ah, help, angels attacking, ahhhhhh,’” Crowley says, smirking.

“But he’s…”

“Seems like true love saved the day, or at least the soul; something sentimental like that,” Crowley says with another bored sigh. “But now that old Yellow Eyes is taken care of that leaves only one big bad bitch for you heroes to take out.”

“Why are you helping us?” Mary demands.

“I’m helping me,” Crowley answers with a smile. “And I do so love second chances.”

With a wink the demon is gone. Mary doesn’t have time to consider what he meant. The cries from the chapel have mostly stopped but she still runs, pushing through the doors to see Balthazar smiting a demon in a female meatsuit. Bobby is leaning against a pew, holding a wound on his side with the angel blade Balthazar gave him hanging loose in his other hand, dark with blood. Sam is still by the altar, holding a knife to the remaining living demon’s neck.

“Mom!” Sam yells and Mary rushes to him, zig zagging around the bodies on the floor, coming up short as the demon’s eyes go black.

“Nice of you to join,” Bobby grunts, limping up behind her.

“You seem to have handled it,” Mary says, keeping her eyes on Sam and hoping he can see the pride in her face.

“Does help to have an angel,” Sam replies, giving her a half smile. “Thanks for coming, by the way.”

“My pleasure, haven’t had a good fight in an age,” Balthazar says, cracking his neck.

“Also this thing isn’t so bad,” Sam adds. He slides the knife in a shallow cut over the demon’s chest and light sparks beneath her skin as she howls in pain.

“This someone we know?” Mary asks, impressed but suspicious.

“Oh, we all know Meg very well,” Sam answers.

Mary smiles, this could be very useful. “Where’s Lilith then, Meg?”

“Fuck off!” the demon spits, struggling. “We’re going to –”

“There’s no ‘we’ for you anymore,” Mary says with relish. “Remember how you killed my father? Well, I just shot yours in the head.” Meg gives a guttural cry of anger and Mary grins. Feels good to get a win.

“I do love narrative symmetry,” Balthazar coos. “Makes this so much – oh dear.” Balthazar's face is troubled and he seems to be listening for something in the distance. “Oh, not good.”

“I don’t like that look,” Bobby says.

“I don’t like what I’m hearing…” Balthazar agrees. “The archangels, they’re not going to nuke South Dakota, which is lovely but…Oh no.”

With the sound of wings Balthazar vanishes and Mary groans in frustration. “I’m getting really tired of them doing that.”

“We got other work to do anyway,” Bobby grumbles, tightening his grip on Balthazar’s blade and looking murder at Meg.

“Is he…is Azazel really…” Sam asks, ignoring the demon’s struggle.

Mary nods. “One down.”

 

**Heaven**

 

Castiel had not expected to return to Heaven so soon, but then again, nothing ever seems to go as he expects when Dean is involved. He can feel the power and grace radiating around him but not touching him, reminding him that he has barely enough grace left to stay standing, let alone meet three powerful angels in battle.

“Home at last,” Raphael intones as Michael glowers beside him.

“Good to see you too, Raphael,” Gabriel smirks. “And…nope. Don’t know you.”

Beside the archangels, Zachariah bristles in indignation. “You little traitor, _I_ am –”

“Shut up, Zachariah,” Michael mutters.

“You’re archangels?” Dean scoffs, his soul solid and safe between Cas and Gabriel. “Heaven’s run but a bunch of constipated accountants?” He’s not wrong, really. Michael and Raphael both wear projections of old vessels. Raphael’s is a black man with grim eyes and Michael’s is white, blandly handsome with hair parted too perfectly. Zachariah remains balding with small, cruel eyes. Castiel can’t even see their true forms beyond the constructs.

“You must be Dean,” Michael goes on, ignoring the insult. “You’re not supposed to be here for a long time.”

“So this is Heaven?” Dean asks. “And I’m still dead?”

“Technically,” Michael pronounces. “I’d give you a tour except you won’t remember any of this when you’re sent back.”

“Sent back?” Dean echoes in horror.

“To Hell, to fulfill your destiny without interference,” Raphael says.

What little grace Castiel has after saving Dean surges in rage. “I won’t allow that,” he growls, stepping defensively in front of Dean.

“Good thing I’m going to obliterate you and your claim on that soul from the universe then,” Raphael says, deep and deadly.

“I killed you once, Raphael, I will do it again if you threaten him one more time,” Castiel shoots back and Raphael raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

“What do you mean again?” Michael asks suspiciously.

“Well, if you’d stop measuring dicks for a second I could explain,” Gabriel snipes and the focus returns to him.

“This is about you meddling with fate, changing time – what Naomi saw,” Zachariah balks, of course ignoring Gabriel.

“Oh, we did more than meddle,” Gabriel grins. “And yes, _we_. Don’t act surprised. Cassie and I lived a whole other telenovela and then decided some things needed revising.”

The other angels grimace in confusion and Gabriel rolls his eyes.

“Yeah I didn’t get it either,” Dean offers. “Cas, like, sent a message back to himself…through me? Or my soul 'cause he owns it or something. Changed stuff. Saved a lot of people.”

“So that’s why you interfered,” Zachariah says, eyes narrowed. “That’s easy enough to undo.”

“I wouldn’t try that,” Gabriel warns as Castiel’s panic spikes. “You really won’t like the way things go in that world. Like Cas said, you’re dead,” he nods to Raphael then turns to Michael. “And you’re locked in the cage with Lucifer, which I’m sure is more fun than a barrel of scorpions.”

“And you get stabbed in the face,” Castiel adds to Zachariah with some satisfaction.

“I do like that part,” Dean mutters beside him and Castiel feels a familiar swell of annoyance and love.

“Point is,” Gabriel goes on. “Your stupid apocalypse plan went to shit there and it’s gonna go the same way here if the Winchesters are anywhere near it. Believe me, bros, I know. Getting shived by Lucifer is not a fun way to go, but at least I died on the right side. But now we have a chance to not fuck it up. Do you think I spent fifteen years taking heart-worm meds _for fun_? We can stop fighting. Stop the whole train and get off. That’s why I’m here and not kicking your asses right now. We can change things. Fix them!”

“Indeed. We can try again and learn from our mistakes,” Raphael sneers, completely unmoved. “We carve out all the knowledge we need from you two, wipe the insects’ minds clean and get this show on the road.”

Castiel’s fists contract and Gabriel and Dean have to catch him to stop him from charging. It’s not hard to hold him back, considering that he’s barely keeping himself from fading out of existence entirely. Gabriel moves between him and Raphael, holding Castiel’s gaze earnestly.

“Raphael, I’m gonna warn you,” Gabriel says slowly. “It is way beyond a bad idea to threaten this puny mortal in range of Castiel here, it don’t end well for anyone.”  Gabriel narrows his eyes and Raphael laughs, unimpressed, behind him.

“I will not be intimidated by a traitor and a rebel with barely enough grace to be called an angel,” Raphael says, approaching and roughly pushing Gabriel to the side. It’s a foolish move, but then again, it’s been a long time since Raphael was in battle. And much longer since he’s dealt with Gabriel. “You and this upstart have caused enough chaos. It is time for –”

Raphael seems genuinely shocked when Castiel plunges his blade into his heart, and even more so when Gabriel adds his own.

“We did warn you,” Castiel tells Raphael as his grace sputters and explodes inside him. Castiel sags against Dean as he withdraws his weapon and Raphael falls dead.

“Gabriel!” Michael roars and for a moment Castiel can see the immense outline of his true form quaking above him. Raphael did not have near Gabriel’s power, but Michael is easily ten times stronger. Dean takes his place close to Castiel, face shocked and amazed. “How dare you! Zachariah, retrieve the demon and make sure she slaughters the others. All but the vessel.”

“No!” Dean yells as Zachariah smirks and disappears. The satisfaction of Raphael’s death evaporates and Castiel clutches Dean tighter.

“Don’t worry, he’s scared now,” Gabriel snaps, lip curling and frustratingly unfazed.

“More like appalled,” Michael scoffs. “You two are willing to murder your brothers? Unravel the universe for what? A few _humans_?”

“No,” Gabriel says before Dean or Castiel can argue. “For family.”

“I am your family,” Michael sneers.

“No,” Gabriel says, shaking his head. “You, Raphael, Lucifer; you may be my brothers but you aren’t family. Not the way you should be. But them? Those humans that you know nothing about…they understand. They get why Dad started this whole shebang in the first place.”

“Get what?” Michael asks and Castiel finds himself smiling.

“Love,” Castiel answers simply.

“Like the wise men said, it’s all you need,” Dean says and Gabriel sends him an eye roll.

“And come on, it’s not like you haven’t spent most of creation trying to kill your bother too,” Gabriel adds.

“That is Our Father’s will, Gabriel,” Michael says with cold fury.

“Is it though?” Gabriel asks back. “Because I don’t think you’d have to lie to all of Heaven and work with demons to make this shit happen if it was.”

“Nor have to trick Gadreel into letting Lucifer into the garden in the first place,” Castiel adds and Michael’s face falls in shock.

“I knew I kept him alive too long,” Michael says, waving away the accusation. “Lucifer’s role in Father’s plan was inevitable, I only sped the way. _As I am doing now_.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Gabriel snaps. “His plan was for us to love the humans, to protect them! And by the way, in that other world, the only people Dad ever helped were these two morons and the cute brother, not you.”

Dean chances a glance at Castiel, obviously impressed by that detail.

“Short stop is right, Mike,” Dean says and Michael looks even more appalled and furious.

“Dean…” Castiel warns, tightening his grip on the human, but Dean shrugs.

“What? I’m already dead.” Dean looks back to Michael. “Yeah. I don’t think God is on your side. 'Cause he could have stopped Cas changing things, could have helped along your story. But he didn’t. What does that tell you, huh? And if God is listening anywhere, then he can come right down and stop us if this is still his plan. Hell, I’d love to meet the guy and ask him a few questions. But I don’t think this was ever was about him, and I ain’t holding my breath.”

Dean goes tense against Castiel, slipping his hand into his and holding tight. For an interminable moment they all wait before Michael’s face hardens and thunder sounds around him. Castiel’s meager grace shudders. They are still utterly out-matched here.

“So, God is gone,” Michael says with disdain. “I am still ending this world and bringing paradise. I will still face my brother. I will still…”

“No, you won’t,” Dean retorts, shocking the archangel into silence. “'Cause you need me to do that. It’s gotta be my choice, right? And that’s the thing you can’t undo; that’s the part of your dad’s plan you’re _never_ getting past. You can erase me, reboot me, put me in any world you want and I will never say yes to you. Ever.”

“Free will is, as an old friend might say, a bitch,” Castiel says, smiling in satisfaction and earning a smirk from Dean.

“And it will kick your douche ass every time,” Dean adds.

“He ain’t wrong, bro,” Gabriel agrees with a grin.

“We’ll just have to see,” Michael says, undeterred and the hope Castiel was feeling falters. “I have all of Heaven behind me.”

“Do you though?” They all turn to see Balthazar looking breathless and smug, something like a microphone in his hands. “Because the second Gabriel informed me you were having your big pissing match up here I thought that it was the kind of thing all of Heaven needed to hear. So they did.”

Castiel gasps as their entire former garrison materialize behind Balthazar, and even more angels beyond that. Michael draws his blade, eyes blazing in fury as his own smaller force appears at his back.

“If this is a fight, I like our odds,” Gabriel smiles. “Now, if you lovebirds will excuse us.”

Castiel feels rough, rich earth beneath his hands before he fully understands that they have been sent away. And that he’s collapsed.

“Damnit, Gabriel…” Castiel groans, digging his fingers into the dirt of a stranger’s paradise as Dean catches him, kneeling with him on the rough ground.

“Cas? Stay with me, man,” Dean begs, voice panicked. “Don't worry about Gabe. We were just gonna get in the way there anyway. And we gotta get to my mom and Sam. If that Zachariah asshat is sending Lilith after them they’re fucked.”

Castiel looks up at Dean, his face framed by the green branches of an old tree. “You’re right, but Dean, you’re still dead. I don’t know if I can…” Castiel tries to stand and everything spins and blurs. When he looks up again Dean’s face is full of dread.

“Cas, are you okay?”

“I’m dying,” Castiel says, unable to keep the annoyance out of his voice. “Again.”

“Well, stop it!” Dean orders and Castiel laughs because of course Dean Winchester would command him not to die and his first instinct would be to obey. “Get it together and get me back in my body.”

“Pulling you from Hell took almost all the grace I had…” Castiel reminds Dean, holding onto him.

“So get some more! We’re in freaking Heaven! Or ask Gabriel to do it!” Dean yells, his face filling with terror. “Just-”

“Dean, I’m not saying I can’t,” Castiel tells him and Dean blinks in confusion. “I’m trying to explain what’s going to happen. You have to get to them.”

“We have to get to them, Cas,” Dean protests. “ _We_.”

Castiel smiles, still astonished by the selflessness of one human, even after so long. “I didn’t save her so she could die now. And I didn’t save you just so you could be trapped in Heaven.”

“Cas, please don’t do something stupid,” Dean begs as Castiel closes his eyes. If he listened to that advice, his existence would have been very different. He’s glad he didn’t.

“Hold on, Dean.”

He doesn’t focus on his grace, that didn’t work in Hell and it won’t work here. Instead he remembers, again, what all of this was for. He thinks of Dean, of the simple imperative of saving him, in any and every way he can. Saving what Dean loves: his family, his world. Castiel spreads his hand on Dean’s shoulder and remembers the feel of his heartbeat against his palm. 

For what he knows will be the last time, he feels the light of grace fill him, flaring bright and divine, radiating love.

He opens his eyes to see Dean gasp to life on Bobby Singer’s living room floor, a blanket falling away from his face and revealing eyes wide with shock and wonder.

“Cas!” Dean yells, grabbing Castiel and beaming with relief. “You made it, you…No. Cas no.”

Castiel knows Dean sees: the final wisps of his grace burning him up from inside. The journey and final surge of power was too much for his vessel to endure, and far too much for him to survive. It doesn’t matter, though. Dean is breathing and Castiel can feel it against his face.

He hopes Dean doesn’t mind that he kisses him, it feels selfish to do so, even now, to touch something he has loved so much for so long. But perhaps death is a time to be selfish. He wonders if he even has enough grace to return to Limbo, or if whatever is left of him will just fade into nothing. For some reason, it doesn’t frighten him this time. His only regret is that he will not see Dean in the life he deserved. Dean will be happy though. He will live through this and smile and laugh and thrive. That is enough.

“I love you,” Castiel tells him simply as he pulls away and sees the last sparks of his existence reflected in Dean’s tear-filled eyes. “Now, you have work to do.”

He presses his lips to Dean’s forehead and slips his blade into Dean’s hand before sending him to where Sam is praying for them far away in one final burst of light.

 

**Ilchester, Maryland**

 

“Cas!” Dean yells, his voice echoing in an empty, dark hall who the fuck knows where with Cas nowhere in sight. “Damnit, Cas!” Dean cries again, struggling to his feet stiffly, which probably has something to do with being dead all day. The sound of familiar raised voices somewhere close by makes his newly restored heart start beating double time as he runs. “Bobby! Sam! Mom!”

Dean has no idea why everyone is in a creepy-ass chapel but for a second he’s filled with relief when he sees Bobby turn to him in shock…from where he’s pinned to the chapel walls by a demon in white. His mom is lying with her eyes closed by the altar and he can’t tell if she’s breathing. A second demon has Sam in her clutches, holding a jagged knife to his throat.

“Dean!” his bother all but sobs. The demon in white spins, revealing terrifying white eyes in a face contorted in rage. Dean sees his mother twitch at the sound and he heaves a breath of relief.

“Are you kidding me!?” the demon holding Sam yells, reminding Dean he very much has no reason to be happy right now.

“I’m guessing you’re Lilith,” Dean says because getting stabbed by one demon makes the prospect of getting flayed by another not quite as scary. Or maybe he’s brave because he simply refuses to die after Cas gave up his life to save him. The demon sneers and raises her hand to (Dean guesses) flambé him or something. “Thought you’d be scarier.” The light that surges from her hand barely tickles and that, more than his bravado, seems to terrify her.

“Meg, kill him!” Lilith screams and the demon holding Sam throws him roughly to the side.

“With pleasure,” Meg sneers, rushing recklessly at Dean. Dumb move.

“Oh, I was really hoping that was you, bitch,” Dean mutters as he drives Cas’s blade right into Meg’s heart.

“What the –” she doesn’t finish, just stares at Dean in surprise as she sputters and dies, black eyes going human, then blank.

“Told you I’d kill you,” Dean says, pushing the body away and raising the blade to point at Lilith. “Care to try again?”

“How are you alive!?” Lilith yowls. “Why can’t I hurt you?” She raises her hand at Dean but nothing happens.

“Guess my ride here gave me a bit of extra protection,” Dean says, cause it’s as good a guess as any.

“Actually, it’s an apocalypse thing, very tiresome.” Dean blinks to see the bald, asshole angel from before standing beside him in the aisle between the broken rows of pews and demon corpses. “The first demon cannot directly harm any vessels, blah blah…”

“Well, that’s nice,” Dean says and Zachariah levels him a look of cosmic annoyance.

“Luckily, I can,” the angel says and the pain that shoots through Dean is vicious and immediate.

“Fuck,” Dean gasps, falling to his knees, Cas’s blade clattering away.

“No! Let him go!” Sam’s words dissolve into a cry of pain as he collapses as well.

Dean hears Lilith laugh, high and giddy. “You know, sometimes I wonder why we’re on different sides,” the demon coos, and Dean forces himself to look up at her as she approaches from her place near the altar. “I am really going to enjoy watching you get torn apart.”

“Now, whatever is happening upstairs, whatever little rebellion Gabriel thinks he can sustain…It doesn’t matter. I’m going back and fixing what Castiel broke. I’ll make sure I give myself the cliff notes of what to avoid when we restart this again, including letting that broken, idiotic, sad sack _live_!”

“No!” Dean yells, though he feels like his insides are being twisted apart and set on fire. Lilith is still laughing, looming above him, Zachariah on his other side.

“Yes. Your Cas gets to die _again_ ,” Zachariah chortles. “And very painfully, I assure you. And Mommy is going right back on the ceiling to roast!”

The gunshot sounds like thunder in the chapel. The pain stops instantly and Dean tries to discern what he’s seeing. There’s a flickering hole in Lilith’s chest that the demon looks at with dull confusion. Zachariah too is gawking at a hole in his shoulder that’s blazing with blue light. Dean’s mother is standing, face bloody and eyes full of more wrath than Dean saw in all of Heaven, the Colt steady in her hands.

Dean scrambles up, grabbing Cas’s blade just as Lilith falls. Sam lunges and drives his knife into her heart with a yell. With one more dull blast of hellfire inside her, the demon dies.

“That doesn’t…It won’t change…I will still…” Zachariah sputters and Dean rounds on him. Without a second of hesitation Dean drives the blade up through the angel’s chin and into his skull.

“Some things shouldn’t change, you’re right,” Dean mutters as he watches the angel flail and expire. He can see a faint imprint of wings around Zachariah’s corpse when it falls to the floor. He wonders if Cas got that, if there are wings around Jimmy’s body is back at Bobby’s on the floor, taking Dean’s place or if…

“Holy shit, Mom,” Sam says and Dean looks up at his mother as she limps towards him and pulls him into the tightest hug he’s ever gotten. He returns it in kind, burying his face in her hair and letting the tears flow.

“Dean,” she sobs into his shoulder. “I thought I lost you, baby, I’m so sorry I couldn’t…”

“Mom, no, it wasn’t your fault,” Dean protests, pulling back. “You saved me. You saved all of us in ways you don’t even know. Cas, he…”

“I know,” she says and pulls Dean back in. “He told me.”

“What the hell just happened?” Bobby asks, limping towards them and helping Sam rise.

“I think we just saved the world,” Sam mutters, meeting Dean’s eyes.

“I’ll fill y’all in on the details from my end after we get you patched up,” Dean says, finding one thing to focus on to get him through the next minute. He doesn’t want to explain Hell and alternate worlds and Heaven and Cas dying before his eyes right now. He just wants to keep moving.

“Are you okay?” Mom asks, as always seeing straight through Dean.

He shakes his head, all the relief and triumph and love sucked into the black hole in the space where Cas is supposed to be beside him.

“Not even a little.”


	22. Let Me Take You Down

** Thursday, July 4, 2002 **

**Santa Cruz, California**

 

It’s been a long time since Mary’s just sat in the sun and listened to the sea. She used to drive down to the beach when they first moved here, when the boys were asleep and Dad told her to get some air. She’d sit in the sand feeling sorry for herself and remember all the trips to the ocean she planned with John that never happened. Somewhere along the way, and she doesn’t remember when, she just started coming to the ocean just to be there, but by then she was taking the kids too and it wasn’t quite the same. She never felt like she could take her eyes off them and the one time she did, Dean nearly drowned.

Now Dean’s sitting on a log a ways away looking at the ocean just like Mary used to, mourning the angel that pulled him out of the sea all those years before, drowning in a whole different way. And Mary’s sitting with her feet in the sand trying to figure out what to say to him.

“We gonna stay for fireworks?” Bobby asks, settling down next to her and offering her a beer. He’s not really asking about fireworks, of course, he’s asking how long they’re going to let Dean torture himself.

“Maybe,” Mary answers. “There’s a pretty good view of the ones they shoot off from the boardwalk from here.”

Bobby nods. “I guess we got nowhere else to be.”

Mary looks at him. She made a token effort at beach clothes – a white linen shirt and even shorts. Bobby on the other hand looks about the same as always, maybe minus a layer, and she loves him for it.

“What’s it like being back?” Bobby asks as Mary takes a long sip of cold beer, his eyes inscrutable beneath the bill of his cap.

“I thought it would hurt, seeing all the things we left behind,” Mary replies. “But it doesn’t. I like remembering. I’ve tried not to think about Dad or...or anything that wasn’t keeping the boys safe for so long, but it’s nice to have a reminder of the normal part of our lives. I was thinking…” Mary hesitates and Bobby just waits, patient as ever. “I was thinking we might swing through Lawrence on the way back home. I’d like Sam to see where he was born, pay respects. That sort of thing.”

“I invited?” Bobby asks and Mary’s a bit mad at herself that he feels like he has to.

“Course you are,” she says firmly. “I’ll need you with me.”

“That so?” Bobby says but he’s smiling, obviously touched.

Mary takes a deep breath, surprised that she’s this nervous about putting herself on the line at her age. She’s faced down angels and devils and somehow this is still frightening. “Maybe we can talk about that ring in the sock drawer too,” she says quietly. “If you still have it.”

“Oh, I think I still know where it is,” Bobby replies easily and Mary sighs in relief.

“That’s good then.” Mary looks back down the beach at Dean. “You got any ideas about how to get through to him?”

“He lost someone he loved. Loves. There ain’t no speeding up that hurt,” Bobby says. “We both know how it goes.”

“I’m his mom, I can’t just sit here and let him suffer.” Mary knows it’s not really a good argument.

“You brought him here, that’s something. How many days is it now he’s come out? Four?” Bobby says with a shrugs. “That’s all we can do, be there while it hurts. Remind him it ain’t gonna hurt forever. I personally can’t decide if the sulking is worse than the plane ride though. At least the flight distracted him…”

Mary shudders at the memory of the flight from motherfucking _Maryland_. It had been the fastest way home with no cars, no impending doom, and no angels answering any calls. “He had every right to be terrified. Planes crash and flying around in a big metal tube is just unnatural.”

“So you both said,” Bobby laughs. “Was that before or after you hyperventilated?”

“I hate you,” Mary mutters.

“Nah, you love me,” Bobby says with a smile as he looks back out to the receding tide.

“Yeah, guess I do,” Mary replies. She feels a little self-indulgent, maybe selfish in feeling it, like she always has, especially as her gaze turns to Sam heading down the beach towards Dean. But it doesn’t make it less true.

 

 

“You’re blocking the sun,” Dean mutters as Sam comes close. Sam rolls his eyes but sits down beside Dean on the log anyway, his gaze following Dean’s out to the vast blue of the Pacific.

“See anything new today?” Sam asks and Dean gives him a sidelong scowl. “Just asking.”

“I know you all think I’m crazy or processing or whatever,” Dean says after a pause.

“More like you’re stuck in the denial phase of the five stages of grief and acceptance.” Dean turns to him, affronted. “Please tell us when you reach bargaining, okay? You don’t have a good history with that one.”

“You have no idea,” Dean says, a dark look on his face.

“Something you saw in that…alternate world or whatever?” Sam asks curiously. He’s pretty fascinated by the thought of this other life they didn’t live, things that Cas remembered from the chronological future but his consciousness’ past, but Dean hasn’t been forthcoming with details for obvious reasons.

“Yeah, I guess I sold my soul there too, ’cept it was to bring back your sorry ass,” Dean mutters and Sam’s eyes go wide.

“Oh, uh…thanks, I guess.”

Dean gives a bitter laugh and kicks at the sand. “Cas pulled me out over there too.”

“Dean…”

“Sam, you didn’t see it,” Dean cuts him off. “He saved me, _us_ , over and over…and something, God or I dunno, whatever, it brought him back.”

“And so you think…”

Dean stops Sam with a plaintive look. Sam doesn’t mention that they’ve been coming here for half a week, or say that now that everything seems relatively peaceful so maybe Cas isn’t needed. “Well, today is Thursday,” he says instead.

“You still wanna swing by your future campus tomorrow?” Dean asks, obviously trying to smile.

Sam tries to do the same. “Yeah, sure,” he says. “What do you think I should tell people, when they ask what my family is like?”

“What do you mean, like, should you say we’re exterminators or something?”

“I can’t tell them the truth but…I wish I could, ya know?” Sam confesses. “Back before, I kinda thought we were freaks. Me included. But now…we saved the _world_ , Dean. I wanna be proud of that.”

“Tell ’em your parents were soldiers, two different kinds, two different wars. And that they saved a lot of people,” Dean offers and Sam smiles at that.

“I like that. What about my brother though?”

“He’s just a guy that had a lot of good people watching out for him,” Dean mutters. “I…I’m gonna take a walk.” Dean stands and heads down the beach, jeans trailing in the sand and tee shirt jostling in the breeze.

Sam shakes his head. “He’s way more than that.”

 

 

Dean doesn’t walk too far, just closer to the water and a bit further away from the rowdy Fourth of July crowds. He considers kicking off his shoes and wading into the waves, maybe just to feel the cold and remind himself that he’s alive or some shit. Or maybe remind him of the last time he was in this water. Probably not a great idea.

It’s been three weeks. Three weeks of slowly relaxing out of panic mode. Of praying all the time with no answer. Of going to sleep and hoping to see something in a dream and waking up still alone. Of explaining bits and pieces of what happened to other hunters. Of the lesser drama of the stupid plane trip back to Denver, getting a ride from Ellen back to Sioux Falls and assuring Jody over the phone that Rufus wasn’t a threat and should not be held in custody. That at least had given Dean a laugh, though it had been hollow. He’d been happy to see Ellen thaw a bit when she learned the worst was over, glad to see Jo and tell her Meg was dead. Ash had offered some weed and to keep tracking angel chatter for Dean, but with radio silence from Gabriel and Balthazar, Dean hadn’t been optimistic. Everyone had been treating him with kid gloves, which annoyed him, but at least they hadn’t argued when he said he wanted to drive to Santa Cruz. They’d all just climbed into Baby with him and argued about the music the whole way. He wishes that would make him happy; grateful for the love he has. Hell, grateful that he lives in a world where they’re alive and happy. But it just reminds him more of the one person who isn’t there and should be.

Dean sighs and sits on a worn rock, dragging the toe of his shoe through wet sand.

“You look like you’re having a shitty day.”

Dean looks up to the source of the voice. It’s a regular looking guy, a bit scruffy, a bit short, looking out to the ocean and squinting in the sun.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean says. He’s not used to people making small talk on the beach but maybe he just looked that miserable. Great.

“Can I sit?” guy asks, hunching up his shoulders in his hoodie at a gust of wind off the water.

“Sure?” Dean scoots, the guy sits and Dean wonders if he’s supposed to say something.

“I, uh, don’t mean to intrude, you just looked sorta lonely,” guy says and Dean looks down, shaking his head.

“Um, if this is what it sounds like, I’m flattered but I uh-”

“Oh, no no no!” the guy sputters, flailing a bit. “I mean, yeah, you’re cute but uh, you’re kinda young for me and…I was really just trying to be nice.”

“Oh.” Dean tells himself he can blame the blush on the sun or the wind.

“So, do you wanna talk about it?” the guy asks hopefully and Dean’s tempted. Dude’s got a sort of a neurotic teddy bear quality about him, and he gives Dean an expectant smile.

“I, uh, lost someone, very recently,” Dean confesses. “Hurts like hell. Literally.”

“Oh, man, I’m sorry,” guy says, sounding like he means it.

“Kinda not ready to talk about it.”

“That is totally valid,” the guy says and they lapse into a surprisingly comfortable silence, just watching the waves together for a minute.

“So what’s your story?” Dean asks, more polite than interested.

“Not very interesting,” the guy says with a shrug. “I’m a writer, but that’s kind of messed up right now.”

“How so?” 

“Well, I was working on this big series of books, totally epic, and I had the whole thing written even…” The guy shakes his head. “And then my whole office goes up in smoke. My computer, manuscripts, all of it: poof.”

“Oh shit,” Dean says and the guy gives a nod then another shrug.

“Eh, I’m not too sad about it. The story…it kept getting away from me. Characters weren’t going where I wanted them, too many deaths, too many bugs, too much angst. It was just a mess.” The guy brushes his hands together. “So I figured, I’m gonna start fresh. No planning this time just…see where it takes me.”

“Well, uh, good luck with that, I guess,” Dean says and the guy turns to him and gives him a strange sort of smile. Kind of knowing but also familiar.

“I think it’ll be good, I’ve got some good characters,” the guy says, still smiling at Dean. “And, between you and me, I kept avoiding the love story. I don’t know why, just didn’t pay attention to it…But that was like, the best bit. Gonna focus more on that this time. Maybe even get to a happy ending.”

“Yeah, those are nice when you can come by ’em,” Dean says, looking away.

“And you know what else? I don’t care what my editor says, the deus ex machina twists? I like them.”

“I have no idea what that means,” Dean tells the guy and gets another quirky little grin.

“I think you’ll get it.” With that the guy stands up, clapping Dean on the shoulder and looking back out to sea. “Good luck to you too, Dean.”

“Uh, yeah, sure…” Dean stammers, trying to remember when he told the guy his name. “Uh, what’s your name, so I can look out for those bestsellers you got coming?”

“Oh, Chuck, but look me up under Carver Edlund.” The guys grins at that. “Gotta protect the secret identity. Hey, uh, do you know a big guy and a blonde?”

Dean turns to see Sam and his mother running towards him at full speed, calling and waving for his attention. Dean’s heart starts racing in panic as he gallops to meet them.

“What’s going on? What the hell?”

“Dean…” Sam gasps, stumbling as he reaches his brother. He grabs Dean to adjust his view so that Dean can see that there’s someone else coming down the beach behind Mom.

Dean has to be dreaming because there’s no way…except he can feel the wind and the sun and there’s sand in his shoes. And the guy he loves is standing there in jeans and AC/DC tee, blue eyes as bright as the sea.

“Cas?”

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean has Cas in his arms before he can blink, kissing him with every ounce of passion and gratitude and love he has. It lasts a while, maybe a bit too long given that his mother is watching, but Dean doesn’t care. Cas is solid and real under his hands. His lips and his skin and his hair and everything. Dean can feel his heartbeat and taste his breath. It’s not a dream but it’s a fucking miracle.

“Holy shit, Cas…how?” Dean finally asks, pulling away just enough to notice that Mom is watching them, holding on to Bobby with tears in her eyes. Sam is just grinning.

 

 

“I have no idea. I woke up on the side of the road in Bodega Bay,” Cas explains, his deep voice as dry and befuddled as ever. “It was disconcerting. I had to ride in the back of a truck to get here. I was hoping I had the right location.”

“You did,” Dean laughs, getting a bit hysterical. “I knew…or I hoped…but I didn’t…Damn, it’s good to see you.”

“Maybe it was Gabriel?” Sam offers.

Dean doesn’t look away from Cas, running a reverent thumb along his cheek. “Maybe. Do you know if they won up there?”

Cas shakes his head. “I can’t hear anything from heaven.” There’s something embarrassed in Cas’s face. Maybe bashful. “My grace…there’s none left.”

“What does that mean?” Dean asks, watching Cas take a long, hesitant breath. It hits him like a brick. Breathing. “Holy shit, Cas, does that mean you’re…”

“He’s a real boy, that’s right.” Gabriel’s face is gleeful when they all turn to him, his eyebrows raised high as he waits for applause or laughter that doesn’t come. “Really? Nothing? You people used to give me treat for shitting outside!”

“Where the hell have you been?” Mom demands on all of their behalves and Gabriel jumps. “We’ve been worrying about getting heaven bombed for weeks!”

“I had some stuff to take care of, okay?” Gabriel says and Dean will be damned but he actually looks a bit guilty. The sound of wings heralds Balthazar appearing next to him and Dean’s starting to wonder if anyone watching is gonna start freaking out.

“Heaven’s been a bit chaotic, what with the new leadership and all,” Balthazar says, haughty as ever. “You’re all welcome, by the way.”

“So Michael is dead?” Cas asks, a tremor of uncertainty in his voice. He stands shoulder to shoulder with Dean and Dean squeezes his hands, which he has no plans to let go of probably ever again.

“Alas, no,” Balthazar answers, sending Gabriel a dirty look.

“We had him trade spots with Gadreel,” Gabriel explains uncomfortably. “Maybe a few millennia in solitary will adjust his attitude.”

“ _Someone_ made a big speech about not killing anymore, it was quite moving,” Balthazar adds and Gabriel squirms.

“Yeah, well, we all can grow”

“You’d think you’d be taller if that were true,” Sam remarks.

Gabriel scowls turns his attention to Cas. “Speaking of personal transformation.”

“Did you bring me back?” Cas demands, right to the point.

Gabriel shakes his head. “Hell no. Even I don’t have that kind of power.”

Dean furrows his brow in confusion, looking suspiciously to Cas. “Ya think?” he asks, knowing Cas is wondering the same thing.

“Possibly,” Cas mutters.

“Well, however you’re back, I did come to offer you a job now that you are,” Gabriel goes on.

Dean’s pretty sure he makes the same concerned and confused face that Cas does.

“You didn’t come to see us then?” Sam asks, impressively petulant.

“I was working on it, okay!” Gabriel snaps. “I had a lot on my plate. And no one offered any treats so, really, what would have been the point? The dramatic reunion just…got our attention.”

“What do you mean a job?” Cas asks uncertainly, inching a bit closer to Dean.

“I mean, I’m offering your wings back,” Gabriel says enticingly. “I’ll restore you to full power and you can help Balthy and me set things right upstairs. You can still visit and whatever. I myself plan to be showing up for my peanut butter banana sandwiches any time I can get away…which, well, I don’t know how often that’ll be.” Gabriel actually seems a bit sad about it, not that Dean’s really focused on it. He’s more concerned with giant pit of dread in his stomach that just gobbled up all his joy.

“Don’t forget your flea treatments,” Mom says and Sam sniggers while Dean stares at Cas.

It’s still amazing to see him, living and breathing in front of Dean, his cheeks red from the heat and the wind, squinting up at Dean. There’s nothing epic about him anymore, no wings, no distant glitter of the cosmos in his gaze. Hell, he’s shorter than Dean. But he’s still massive, still tugs at Dean with all the gravity of a planet. Angel or not, this is the guy that rewrote the universe for him and Dean would do the same in return.

“Cas,” Dean says before the now former, possibly soon to be restored, angel replies. “I want you to know that, if this is what…”

“I’m staying here,” Cas cuts him off, his eyes meeting Dean’s with a determined look that Dean knows not to argue with.

“You sure?” Dean asks in wonder. It’s too good an answer to be true. “You really wanna be stuck down here with the hairless apes? Sam snores and Mom still listens to the same albums she had before I was born and all I’ve got is a car and a pretty face, and one of those ain’t gonna last.”

“Seriously, Cas,” Gabriel says, his voice more serious than usual. “I forgot to mention the part where this is a one-time offer. Heaven’s sort of a democracy right now and they were kind of firm on the no-take-backsies with this.”

“You will grow old and sick and suffer down here, you know,” Balthazar adds and Dean feels his heart constrict because they’re right. “You’ll die.”

Cas just smiles, eyes still on Dean. “I know.” There’s a surety in his voice that takes Dean’s breath away. “This life will be small. And dirty and painful. But it will be mine and it will not be meaningless. Because I chose to live it with you.”

“Well, ain’t no arguing with that,” Bobby says and out of the corner of his eye Dean can see that he, and his mother, and brother and even the angels are smiling. Kissing Cas one more time only seems right. His lips taste like the ocean.

“So what now?” Cas asks softly as they pull apart, who knows how long later.

Dean smiles. “Now I think we find some strawberries.”

 

 

 **~~The End~~ **  

**The Beginning**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I adore comments and questions so please do leave a note and some kudos if you enjoy or [come say hi to me over on tumblr](http://ibelieveinthelittletreetopper.tumblr.com/)!
> 
>  
> 
> _And though the night is cloudy,_  
>  _There is still a light that shines on me,_  
>  _Shine until tomorrow,_
> 
> _Let it be._


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